#or a spoken line from a recipe

[russenoire]

some points raised by AI advocates that made me stroke my chin and maybe even empathize a tiny bit.

idk, but i like nuance and think it gets elided easily in online discussions. i do not think these below are GOOD justifications, ever, for plundering the hard work and talent of human artists using AI to make art for profit, but they're valid points.

some people tempted by or who make AI art

don't want to take the time to 'git gud, n00b' because they emphatically do not enjoy the process of sucking at shit until they don't suck. and this includes those who might be interested in taking the time, but look at everything they feel might be required and think: 'i could go to film or art school for 3+ years or i could spend 30 minutes tailoring a midjourney prompt.' i kinda get this one, tbh. artistic skill is hard-won whether you're formally trained or not. i am untrained; i would say self-trained. but i never stopped drawing as a child like most people do. something visually and mentally clicked for me, something that i couldn't even articulate until i read drawing on the right side of the brain in my 20s, that allowed me to jump over the initial 'why can't i just draw what i SEE AAAAKSHDKF' hurdle. maybe this is what 'talent' actually means? that early mental/visual shift—where you come to see the world and things in it as a collection of shapes, lines, planes, lights, darks, color blocks, mostly divorced from context or meaning—is present in others like myself, and it does smooth your path. adults just draw for two, three, four years, compare themselves to people who felt some version of that aforementioned shift and/or went to art school, and conclude that they 'have no talent'. while that understandably feels like a long-ass time to go nowhere fast, three years really isn't a lot of time for organic, undirected skill development. i'm serious. inventing the wheel by yourself takes fucking forever; my drawings didn't stop sucking until i was around 11 or 12. that's half my childhood. easily. but actually taking classes or diving into hardcore study? can and will drastically shorten that time. the progress i've seen competent drawing teachers achieve with their students in weeks or months, or artists on youtube who do frequent, deliberate practice in a year is not a miracle. real progress is attainable within a reasonable fucking frame of time IF YOU WANT IT.

really, really aren't satisfied with art that looks bad to them and still want to realize their ideas. and i'm talking crying themselves to sleep over the mismatch between their own skills and said ideas. that frustration is REAL and a version of it is actually a huge factor in why children stop drawing. see all of the above. i don't know how to ease the pain of that skill mismatch. me, i sat with a lot of frustration for a long time; hell, I STILL DO. i think i'd still be halfway decent at lineart and intimidated by actually painting it if i hadn't just started pushing myself to fucking PAINT already, even if it looked really basic. being simultaneously OK with whatever you can do right now and still striving to improve is emotionally difficult. and i know it hurts to have a really cool idea and feel blocked from making it real, especially if you're just not there yet. 'THEN JUST COMMISSION AN ARTIST,' i can hear you artists screaming from the ether. yo. artists are expensive. we are, and we kinda need to be to make a decent living or a feasible side hustle (i'm not going to get into artists underselling themselves). i do think most folks in this boat are not greedy tech bros, just ordinary working class folks who want beauty that is good enough without having to shovel over half a week's paycheck for it. to which i would also argue... dude, you can just save up, too.

often only recognize certain styles of painting (realism or hyperrealism; super-glossy, shiny, high contrast digital painting) as art and want to make art like THAT. putting aside the fact that art is all-encompassing and literally anything can be art, paintings in realistic styles are what i would argue most lay people think of as capital-A art. there is a reason why dictators tend to discourage or prohibit non-realist art; why the early USSR and CPC commissioned bright realist murals everywhere; why more abstract art didn't really catch fire in the western world until the advent of photography. people can see themselves and their history, represented in full color and often writ large. that's fucking powerful and sometimes lost, i think, on those of us who see things differently. but that kind of art is even more out of reach for the lay person who wants it. it takes far longer to make and train for, and artists who work in a realistic style can and do command stupid money. not everyone has that kind of patience or pockets that deep.

firmly believe that some people have more talent than others, so skill development doesn't matter. these are usually the people i mentioned in my first point, who've actually tried for months or years to git gud but never knew how or what to practice. they've been exposed to lots of people their age who felt the shift™ and can't really explain their faster improvement. if you know this feel, gentle reader, and have no clue what's actually happening, i understand why you might throw in the towel. US culture in particular is terrible at growing and nurturing talent of all kinds, and artists don't often share the hours they're actually pouring into improving specific skills. 'talent' by itself is fucking useless; a person who is willing to work at continual improvement will mop up the floor with someone who doesn't think they need to build skill. artists know this. and if you don't feel that shift as a kid, you can learn how to unlock it as an adult.

[lustlovehart]

You Gotta Kiss The One

A/n: This isn’t my usually writing, so this is more short scenario rather than actual story, so sorry if it isn’t my best. Anyways, I was in need of some fluff for the twst men so here we are. (This came out a bit cheesy honestly) Also, unfortunately no Jamil because i went through 7 drafts for his part and hated absolutely all of them.

Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Rollo x Reader

Summary: [Fluff] In a turn of events, it seems you’ve lost your voice, and it’s up to the one you love to give out the cure, a kiss from their lips to yours.

Warnings: Cheesy Fluff, Reader wasn’t meant to be Yuu but they’re friends with Grim so, 50% Yuu.

Unfortunately, making potions with Grim never goes right. One moment, you’re carefully adding in the newt that assists in projecting a beautiful singing voice to its recipient, and in the next your head gets shoved in the concoction. When you finally emerge, your throat attempts to sound out your criticisms of Grim's recklessness. But, your lips are the only thing that moves in motion, your voice not even croaking out a word.

“Why ain’t yah talkin'?” Your hands quickly grab onto the recipe book pointing at the bold disclaimer at the bottom of the page.

If the potion is consumed before the newt is added, it will have the opposite effects.

Before you can read the rest of the text, your companion snatches the book from your hands, reading the rest of it on his own. When Grim reads out the instructions, your eyes narrow when you hear a slight chuckle escape from him when he tells you your only solutions. It’s either never talk again or...

Of course, never talking again has its pros, but, if you don’t have your voice, however will you tell… Him, about your feelings…? Of course, you could just write your confession, but that doesn’t have quite the kick words spoken from your chest do—

"Uhh... seems you gotta kiss your little crush [Name]!"

…

"What."

Before you're allowed to interject, Grim is already reaching his paw up and taking you by the hand, not even allowing you to tell Crewel about your situation. You’re quite sure if you had just told him you could’ve avoided the whole dilemma. Alas, Grim’s very eager in bathing in your embarrassment.

—————

Riddle is fuming at Grim's carelessness, it’s already bad enough that you have no magic in this faraway land, but to be subjected to a potion that doesn’t have a real cure? That’s even worse. He most definitely beheads the feline after he hears about the situation, immediately sending him onto a time-off corner, prattling on about how he should’ve been listening to the rules and acting accordingly in class.

His lecture is cut short at the sound of scribbling, his head turning to look at you furiously writing down on a piece of paper. Your lips are straight-lined as you lift the words to his face.

“Grim said the cure is a kiss.”

Oh… his mouth opens to question you more about this so-called cure, though the heart shape you form with your hands, however, is all the information he needs. It’s unfortunate that it only works if you kiss whoever it is you “love”, he could’ve gotten away with kissing you under the guise of helping if it was just anyone who could kiss you—

Who’s he kidding his face is close to turning red at such a thought. Of course the cure is something so basic, true love. Ah, no not true love, just simply a crush. Yes, a crush.

A crush that can’t be him.

He stays composed externally but internally he can’t deny he’s a little disappointed, it doesn’t matter however, he’ll help you get this kiss from your mystery student, even if it hurts a little to watch. The sound of flipping paper attracts his attention once again.

“So kiss me. Please.”

… What…? What…?! What?!

His eyes widen at the words, his mouth agape at the statement, his skin quickly flushing at the thought. You. Him. You and him. Him and you.

He’s essentially frozen in place. But, the extremely quiet sound of a broken up “okay” signals to you his permission. The feeling of soft lips being placed on his own snapped him out of his trance. He blinks a few times at your face, a smile invading your mouth.

“Thanks Riddle.”

—————

Your hands are furiously shaking Leona's shoulders, despite your relentless attempts at awakening him from his slumber, he doesn't even tell you to stop.

He didn’t even show any signal of stirring when Grim practically shouts to you about getting that kiss from him to “fix yah up”. Didn’t show any sign when you threw one of his shoes at the cat either.

He might be dead, he’s pretty still, like a corpse… Nah, he’s just being a douche.

Carefully, you drop down to his level, your face smooshed into his mattress as you look at his sleeping face. He looks a lot more peaceful in his sleep, his face is less serious and a bit more softer. He does look like a prince from a fairytale when he’s asleep, actually, maybe more of a princess with how pretty he is.

If you had your voice, you’re sure there would be hushed chuckles leaving your throat as you take out your phone. Your fingers are quick to swipe open your camera, lifting the device to Leona's face. Your joy doesn’t last long though, as when you’re just about to take a picture, the sight of Leona stares back at you on your screen, the subdued expression he previously held replaced with his usual face.

“What do you think you’re doin?”

…He’s awake! You’re quick to open the notes app, ready to explain the whole thing to him, along with indirectly confessing your feelings, unfortunately. But, he seems to think differently, as your phone is swiftly snatched from your palms and placed on his nightstand. When you reach over to grab it, his arm pulls you back down, your head buried into his chest, essentially being used as a secondary pillow for him.

“That typing’s loud, i’m tryna sleep.” … and I’m trying to get my voice back.

No matter how much you struggle, he doesn’t let you go. After a few minutes of trying to get your phone back, you give up, becoming his human-sized plushie in your defeat. Maybe he’ll be in the mood when he’s awake. So, your eyes gradually shut themself, sleep taking you over as you wrap your arms around the lion next to you.

…

“Hey, quit talking in your sleep.”

“Hmm…? Oh sorry— Wait what…?!” His palm flies of your mouth as words get muffled in his skin.

Appears you missed the Leona Kingscholar, kissing you. That’s unfortunate.

—————

“Hmm…? You need my help yes? Well then just sign here and I’ll get you that kiss you need!” Azul slips the golden contract across the table, the con man smiling as you read through the fine print.

In the corner, you notice the extremely tiny text saying how you’ll be obligated to stand by his side for the next month and do whatever tasks he needed to be done from you.

You swiftly slide the paper back to him as your head vigorously shakes a firm “No”.

“Oh? Do my terms not satisfy you? Your situation sounds very similar to our princess from the Coral Sea, having to kiss her prince for her voice back. I wonder how you’ll get that princely kiss…” he shrugs his shoulders before sighing, grabbing a stack of papers along with a pen, waving you off before looking at the sales revenue from this week. “No matter, if you don’t need my help please exit, I am a busy man—“

Your hand slams on the surface of his desk, his pupils widening at the sudden outburst. He stays silent for a moment, the glimmer of his glasses covering your view of his eyes. If you had, you would’ve seen the slightest hint of longing in him.

“A very determined soul you are… I'll change your conditions if you want your voice back so bad.” His fingers snap, the old contract disintegrating as a new one forms in his hands. “No fine print, I’ll help you get your kiss, and you work for the Monstro lounge for 2 weeks. Just 2 weeks. Is that a deal?” You squint, looking to make sure there really is no fine print. When you’re assured there really is none, you take a pen from his gloved palm, writing your signature on the line.

“It’s a deal it seems, now, tell me who it is you have affections for, and I’ll make sure you get that kiss—-“The sudden pull of his collar stops him mid-sentence, your lips connecting to his own before pulling away.

He’s extremely flustered, his cheeks blushed, his hat lopsided, eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He did agree to get you that kiss, but… he truly wasn’t expecting you to kiss him…! Of all possible candidates at the school…

“Wha… I’m… Huh…!?”

You straighten your posture before rolling your sleeves up, “So when do I start Azul?”

—————

Your eyes watch Vil meticulously crush, stir, and drop different ingredients into the cauldron, each one changing the color of the liquid inside. To be honest, you’re a little disappointed he knows a cure, you’ll have to wait another time before really confessing to him. His well manicured fingers take the ladle into his hand, carefully pouring the bright drink into a bowl, handing it to you as his eyes await for you to drink it up.

When you do, you set the bowl down, ready to speak, but no sound comes out. Your eyes stare into his, confusion set in your irises.

“I thought you had a dry throat?” Oh, you shake your head, your index finger pointing toward the cauldron and signaling poorly acted-out explosions and screams. “So it was a failed potion?” You pause for a moment before remembering what unit you were on in class. “It was that singing potion wasn’t it?” He contemplates for a moment before grabbing a small vile on the shelf, a potion the was already premade.

He pops it open, ready to pour it down your throat, but before he does, he pulls it back, quickly replacing the concoction with his extremely soft lips the taste of something good invading your taste buds, you assume it to be his chapstick. He stills for a moment, letting your lips lock and exchange touches. When he releases, he doesn’t give you the chance to interject, making you chug the drink down your throat, some of it escaping the corner of your lips, his gloved thumb wiping it off your chin.

“Vi… Vil…? Why’d you do that…?”

“How did Grim tell you to lift it?” He backs away from you, putting the empty glass in the sink.

“He said I… Had to kiss someone I liked. Why?”

“That’s what he said? Huh, I see.” He takes out his own brand of chapstick, reapplying it to his lips. You stay leant on the shelf of the rooms, watching as Vil’s silhouette moves towards the door. “No reason. Now, I have to get back to filming. Take better care of your lips, [Name].” He’s already out the door by the time you work up the courage to say anything else.

As he walks in the hallway, the leather of his gloves clench. It seems Grim did correctly tell you the cure. It doesn’t matter though, whether it was his kiss or that potion that worked, all he cared about was getting you fixed. He’s an actor, he’s keen to notice the presentations of people around him. He was sure you liked him, and even Rook fed into such a delusion. But, there was always a gnawing feeling of not being fair enough to you. So just in case, if you never really did like him, he won’t know.

He’s a good actor, but even actors can’t lie to themself. He really hopes it was his lips that cured you and not that potion.

…

The next day, when Vil finishes applying his makeup, the door to his room is knocked on, albeit very quickly. By the time he finally opens it, nobody is found, only a gift basket filled with fruits and low-grade beauty care, well low grade to him. If his suspicions about who this came from are correct, he can’t blame them for not having enough money to afford proper skin care.

When he looks in, all he sees is a card with a small smiley face and a heart. But he already knows who his secret sender truly is.

—————

Your knocking on Idias door gets harder and harder with every strike. You know he’s in there, but chances are he’s too absorbed in a game to notice your frantic hits. You’re about to hit the wood one more time before the door swings open and your fist is only an inch away from his nose.

“I… I only heard you just now…”

You’ve been out there for 10 minutes.

“You didn’t text me beforehand like usual… Is… Is there something you need…?” He steps to the side allowing you in his room, immediately having you sit on his bed before shutting the entrance. You look around a moment before handing him the note you had pre-written on your phone.

“No voice. Cure is a kiss from person I like. I like you, Idia. Please kiss me.”

It isn’t exactly the confession you wished to give him, but by the time you were typing it, you had deleted so much of the text you originally had from embarrassment, and by the time you looked up, you were already at his door… and Ortho was beaming in excitement behind you, you couldn’t possibly disappoint him by just walking away again.

He essentially shortcircuits the moment he reads the words off the screen.

He doesn’t speak, not even a panicked screech. The only sign of embarrassment he shows you is the sight of his hair turning pink.

“Wha… Wha… What…?”

You expected that, so you lifted your finger, signaling him to scroll down.

“You don’t need to like me back, just kiss me and i’ll leave.”

“No no, If we were in like… like a game… that type of game… you would have… ughhh…. You would have my… affection bar… filled— not filled maybe like 110%… up…” he struggled to get the words out he didn’t even make eye contact with you once in his speech. But, you understand what he’s trying to say to you. “Nevermind, forget it…! Just find someone… someone else… you deserve like a prince of something…”

His posture is hunched over, and he’s quick to turn away from you. You’re sure if he was closer to the wall he would curl into the corner and attempt to hide from you.

You’re pretty sure he’s about to do just that, he’s already slowly making his way to the corner. He’s only narrowly stopped when he feels you tug on his sleeve, pulling his face into your own.

His mouth was slightly open from shock, so his razor sharp teeth poked you, but even then it was still a nice feeling. When you part, he stares at you for an entire minute. His hair was already pink, but somehow it must’ve gotten even pinker.

“You… You won the game…”

“Did I…? What does that mean…?”

“Forget I said that. I’m gonna die now”

—————

It’s been at least half an hour since you’ve met up with Malleus, and he seems to not have noticed you don’t have a voice to reply. But at the same time, it’s nice listening to him ramble on and on about his Gargoyle studies—

“You have not spoken.” Your head is quick to turn, your body slightly jolting at the sight of Malleus’s face mere inches away from your own. Sometimes, you forget he doesn’t have any sense of space. This point is further proven when he moves his face away but your shoulders are still in contact. “Why is that?”

Your hand reaches down to your side attempting to take out your phone, but, it only grasps air. You look back down into your pocket, not noticing any holes for it to fall out of.

What? Did… Did I loose it or something?!

“This thing…” your head flips back to the man in front of you, his gloved fingers turning the phone with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand, why not just talk to me? Would you rather use this phone than converse with me…?” You can spot early signs of Malleus’s emotional turmoils. It doesn’t take long for you to see the hint of disappointment in his eyes at the mere notion of you not even wanting to talk to him.

Along with that, clouds are beggining to form in the sky

You immediately shake your head at him, your fingers pointing to your throat while forming an x. Though your movements are so quick from the sheer panic of lightning striking, he doesn’t understand what you’re doing until you slow down.

“Ah, you did talk about that potion unit didn’t you.” You nod your head, ready to perform a collection of poorly acted-out charades to showcase your cure. You only got as far as the heart in your hands before he interrupts. “If I remember correctly, the fix to that is a kiss from the one who holds your affections… is it not?” The boom of thunder increases at an incredible rate, and even the pout Malleus holds on his face gets more obvious. “Have you come here to ask for my aide?” You can tell, it’s very obvious he’s trying to hide his dispiritedness beside a veneer of support. “Then… I will help a dear… friend.”

At his words, you shake your head the hardest you’ve probably ever shaken it to disagree with someone. You’re sure you must’ve swayed your brain too hard, by the time you stop you honestly feel a little dizzy.

“Ah, do you not want my help?” The lightning in the air starts fading, but in exchange, it’s like the clouds have gotten darker. “Am I, not allowed the see the object of your desire?” You wish you just had your phone out from the beginning, it would’ve made things so much easier. You bring your arm up, pointing at him.

Malleus is smart, he needs it if he will be Briar Valley’s ruler. Yet, he’s a bit dense in terms of human emotions and relationships.

“I thought you didn’t want my help…?” You’re sure if you could make any sound, pure screams of frustration would’ve left you. “I’m left in confusion as to how it is I can help you. I want to assist you Child of man but, I don’t wish to see you kiss anyone else—“Your hands immediately take him by the tie, dragging him into you as your lips practically smash together. If anyone saw you, such a scene would be quite the scandal for the heir. Minutes go by when you finally release him, and when you look up, the sky is the clearest it's been for the past month. “So it was me.” The look in his eyes is fond, it’s a warm sight.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner, I didn’t hide it…”

“You didn’t?”

“I confessed to you twice before this Malleus…”

—————

(This is self indulgent cuz i’m unfortunately a Rollo fan…)

Considering how far away Noble Bell is from Night Raven, you have no doubt you’d be stuck voiceless for quite awhile before you get to see Rollo again. Grim is just left to watch you sulk as your head falls in disappointment. You honestly don’t know how to tell Rollo about your situation either, you could always text him, but how do you even tell him you need to kiss him as your cure? Along with that… over text? That’s just pathetic. He’d probably shame you for being so ungraceful with your feeling towards him.

“Quit moppin’ and tell him already! I’m gettin' depressed just watchin’ ya…” with your head buried into your arms you can feel Grim practically shaking you out of your ball of shame with his tiny paws. “Come… on…! You’re not gonna get your voice back doin' nothin’!” He’s… unfortunately, completely correct.

With a soundless groan, you reach for your phone and open your contacts, drafting the text you’ll send to Rollo.

Rollo, I need to tell you something… your fingers continuing to vigorously type your paragraph.

Three knocks disperse your attention.

“[Name] are you there?” The familiar voice immediately strikes panic in your body as you accidentally throw your phone into the air, pathetically catching it as you stumble towards the door with a loud thud. On the other side, the door can be seen harshly shaking at an impact from within the room, Rollo glancing to each side of him in confusion. “Are you okay?” The lack of a reply makes worry bubble inside of him.

Before he’s given the chance to open the entrance himself, the door swings inward, allowing him to peak in through the crevice. He looks inside with initial confusion before hurriedly shuffling towards the room, the sight of your body on the floor making him even more puzzled with every passing second.

He lifts your upper body, having you sit face to face with him in such close proximity. Your eyes are dazed, looking directly into his eyes before looking around as if you didn’t even notice this was the genuine Rollo Flamme and not just a product of your imagination.

Damn you Grim… Leaving me as soon as you opened the door…

“Your room… is very disorderly [Name].” I was on the floor and you’re focused on how messy my room is? “I did tell you about how messy it was last time I was here too didn’t I?” I get it, I’m messy, so stop rubbing it in… A moment of silence passes before he quirks up an eyebrow, suspicions of his growing by the minute. “No witty comeback this time? Have you finally decided to start listening to me?” Your lack of reply Honestly worries him. Your eyes take a glance at your phone, making his tired face look over as well.

When he moves to grab it, he pauses his hand frozen in place. Your text is still displayed on your screen, as well as the current predicament you find yourself in. Realization hits you in waves as you quickly crawl over to snatch your phone from his palm. When you tried, his hand moves away in time to avoid your reach.

“It’s quite distasteful to admit such a thing through text.” I knew it… your head leans down, once more, in defeat. But, that's quickly changed when his nimble fingers take your face and lead them to his own. Honestly, it felt as if it lasted for eternity when in reality, the exchange only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was as if, Rollo finally felt the need to indulge himself in a little sin, only a little. When you finally separate, you're both left on the floor of your room, awkwardly glancing at the material.

“So… why’d you come here, Rollo? I thought after everything that happened at Fleur City you wouldn’t wanna come here again…”

“I do. I still don’t wanna be here.”

“Then why are you—“

“There’s a holiday at Noble Bell, we have a day off. I came to spend it with you.”

A/n: If anyone has like, any thoughts for the twst characters pls share them!! I may not be doing requests right now but I might write something short of you send in an ask!! Honestly, I just really enjoy when people ramble in my inbox. Also, I’m not too familar with writing Idia and Leona so i’m sorry if they weren’t written good!

[malereadermaniac]

Innocent ~ Natsumi x Male Reader

The tall, handsome man has surprisingly little experience, he's too innocent to understand why he's so drawn to you Top!Natsumi x Bottom!Reader word count: 2.7k Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Cw: blowjob (giving), Fingering (receiving), Heat = sweat kink, body worship (recieving), Praise (recieving), feet, scent kink

The sun had been scorching all campers since it dawned this morning, most campers having to pour water on their heads or go shirtless the whole day to avoid heatstroke. Your activity for the day was simple, bake! You and Hiro were really the only two competent men in your cabin when it came to baking, so you two decided on a recipe and gave out a task to everyone; the recipe? Apple pie. The task wasn't simply to just bake, it was to find ingredients and make everything from scratch, and both you and Hiro knew that there were apple trees in the forest behind you cabin. And so, that's how you ended up with Natsumi all alone, tasked with bringing back a few apples back to your cabin - two people necessary due to the height of the trees.

Chatting on your hunt for apples was enjoyable, Natsumi was definitely your favourite cabin-mate, organised and not too shabby looking, but his personality and kind-hearted personality is what made you enjoy his presence. The tall man also loved spending time with you, he was friendly with everyone by nature but when it came to you, Natsumi just felt as if you he needed you to be a close friend; not just someone he politely waved or smile to from time to time. But your friendliness with each other did seem to walk on the line between romantic and platonic feelings...

Take for example the fact that on your walk towards the apple trees, you have had to force your eyes away from Natsumi's slim-fit build at least 5 times already; his quite large muscles on his arms and his heard abs sweating and shining from the searing sun, it made your heart skip multiple beats. But whilst you faced your small feelings for the handsome swimmer, he did not. Not because he didn't like you or want to! But rather, Natsumi as a person isn't that great with romantic or sexual feelings... Which has not only led to the poor man questioning his seemingly random affinity for you, but also popping quite a few boners around you.

Speaking of which (the boners and the feelings that is) was occurring right this very second. Once you two had found some trees with actual apples on them you had to figure out how to reach them.

"Wanna get on my shoulders or should I get on yours?" You ask, a s mile on your had as you tilt your head in a questioning manner

"U-Uhm.. You can get on my... my shoulders!" Natsumi stutters out, unusual for his well-spoken self, a blush also adorning his face - but he just put that down to the heat.

You chuckle at the handsome man's response. You weren't a narcissist or anything, but you knew that you were definitely above average in terms of looks - so you were used to guys being a little nervous around you, you found it cute. You also understood why Natsumi was continuing to stutter when you had made it onto his broad shoulders, your plump and boiling, sweaty thighs enveloping Natsumi's tan face. The feeling of you on him, around him, along with the feeling of your crotch rubbing against his head as you reached back and forth for the apple easily resulted in a lot of blood rushing south of the innocent man - Natsumi blushing profusely at the situation and at the embarrassment of popping a boner in this moment. After getting down off of the muscular man, you noticed it (the massive tent in his shorts that is), but you didn't mention it - Natsumi's face already beat red and the handsome man avoiding looking into your eyes, you felt it was a little unnecessary to call it out. That doesn't mean that you didn't take a note of it, though, or that the fact that your camp crush clearly had some sort of feelings for you.

After gathering a couple of apples and making your way back to the camp, you watched as Natsumi headed straight to his bed and 'smoothly' (very not smoothly) use a pillow to hide his little (big) problem. None of the others noticed though, so you all continued on with baking; a soft blush on your face when you noticed the navy haired man staring at you the entire length of the task. With the pie baked, the others left to hand it in, leaving you all alone in the cabin with a still very embarrassed Natsumi. With the temperature still incredibly high, the two of you were half-naked, skin shiny from the beads of sweat on your bodies - you couldn't help but throw a few glances Natsumi's way, his rock-hard abs glimmering so sexily, along with his pecs and obvious V-line. Natsumi on the other hand literally could not take his eyes off of you...

The way that your sweat shined so beautifully on your (s/t) skin, beads of sweat running along your abdomen as you sexily stretch out on your bed - fuck man... Natsumi's problem had hardened ten fold! When you catch his eyes with yours, you flash him a warm smile, chuckling at the soft pink hue on his usually tan face. "ya know... you don't have to be embarrassed about it" You say, lifting your upper body off of your bed in an upward dog pose; your nipples out for Natsumi to ogle at, along with your sexy arms and brief showing of your abdomen "A-About what?" The flustered man responds, his sharp jawline being shown off as Natsumi turns his head away from you, unable to comprehend why he felt his stomach do backflips whenever he looks at you "Your little... hah... big friend~ It's perfectly natural" You say with a smile, pointing at his poorly hidden boner in Natsumi's khaki shorts The man short circuits at your words. Not only did you just outright mention it, but did you just compliment him?? Now, Natsumi isn't experienced at all, he doesn't understand shit like this or whether or not having a big dick was good or bad... But the tone you used? The comforting smile on your face? Your personality and words could make this man cum alone!

A silence fills the warm cabin, not an awkward silence, but a silence no doubt. That is until your soft voice breaks the thick, sexual tension once more "Want me to help you out?" You ask, working up the courage to make the first move on mr. perfect "How would you do that, (Y/n)?" Natsumi retorts after a moment of pondering, his eyes glued to yours You chuckle back at Natsumi and stand up from your bed, making your way over to the muscular swimmer. Receiving a quick nod from the sheepish man after mumbling 'lemme take the lead...', you go ahead and hold yourself above your shirtless camp-mate; trapping the inexperienced man below you, watching as Natsumi's eyes wander your shirtless body, down to your crotch and back up to your soft face. 'can I kiss you?' you say with a smile, to which Natsumi replies 'O-Of course', his eyes glued onto your soft looking lips. With that, you lowered your face to the sharp-featured one below you, you soft lips pushing against Natsumi's as you took control. It didn't take long for the innocent man to be whimpering into your moan, a few moans escaping his lips from your knee rubbing against his hard dick. Although you didn't want to rush the soft moment, Natsumi was becoming more desperate by the moment, which led to his tongue dancing in a tango with yours as the handsome virgin below you moaned and groaned into your mouth. Your hands roamed the tan man's muscular body as you made-out with him, your thumbs playing with his perky nipples, your palm running along his strong abs and hips as your other held you up above him.

Eventually, you pulled away. Panting above Natsumi, you watched as the man desperately tried to reach your addictive lips once more, his hips humping so sexily against your knee - who knew it would be so hot to hold the reigns once in a while! To soothe the horny man below you, you began trailing down his hot, sweaty body with soft kisses; worshiping his tanned, muscular, slim, masculine body with soft praises and kisses. You made yourself comfortable between Natsumi's legs, resting your head cutely against his muscular thigh, hand running up and down his leg, ever so close to his twitching, clothed cock. Teasing Natsumi resulted in sexy whines accidentally erupting from the man's throat, his eyes glued onto you, pleading with you to do more as you rub your nose gently against his covered hard-on - his briefs absolutely drenched in his sweat and musky scent. But you weren't that mean, so you gave in to Natsumi's needs and pulled down his tight underwear, revealing his fucking massive cock. To say it shocked you would be an understatement. You were surprised that the man was a virgin with a weapon like this between his legs, but whatever, you didn't like to share.

The air in the room had gotten even hotter, aided by Natsumi's heavy, hot pants as he moaned like never before. Natsumi had never even really masturbated before, so a blowjob actually rocked his world! Your eyes were glued to Natsumi's flushed complexion and sweaty body as you sloppily sucked his veiny cock; the man too big to easily deepthroat, so you decided on sloppily licking at and sucking on his cute pink tip and veiny, and jacking off whatever your mouth struggled to reach. Natsumi's moans alone could make you cum, the man sounding so sexy as he moaned incoherent words along with your name so incredibly loud, with such evident pleasure dripping off of his voice. Natsumi's words were also incredible, praises falling off of his tongue would feed your ego and your dick so, so much - constant praises of your beauty/looks, your skill, and how good you were making him feel; it was all so fucking hot! But it wasn't just his moans and praises, Natsumi's body was contorting in pleasure, his hands in your hair tightly pulling you onto his dick as his knees were raised, his feet on either side of your head as his thighs encapsulated your head. Fuck man, sucking off Natsumi was more pleasurable than being fucked by some of your past flings! It didn't take long for Natsumi to cum, he had been holding back so well, but one look at your panting face, your tongue out so sexily with spit and precum rolling down your chin was enough to send Natsumi way over the edge. Tightening his masculine fingers in your hair, Natsumi groaned a deep "(Y/n)" and pulled you with all of his might onto his dick, forcing your face to smash against his pelvis, his pubes stuffing your nose and his massive cock going fully down your throat. You chocked on the massive man's cock, doing your best to relax your throat to be able to breath as Natsumi shot what felt like gallons of his thick, hot cum down your throat; the white substance shooting directly down your throat, pooling within your mouth and even spilling down your chin - this man was pent the fuck UP.

After coming down from his high, the navy-haired man looked down at you, seeing the fucking damage he'd done, and finally pulled his 8 inch monster out of your mouth. Hundreds of apologies flooded out of Natsumi as he grabbed some tissues from his bedside and tried to clean you up; but he couldn't deny that watching his cum drool out of your mouth and down your chin, your teary eyes looking at him with a soft smile on your face as you panted like a horny fucker, holy shit did it turn Natsumi on even more. But slowly, Natsumi's 'sorry's transitioned into 'Thank you's, his voice a little more confident as the handsome man looks down at you, a lazy smile on his face as he basks in the afterglow. After cleaning up, you chat with Natsumi, the post-nut clarity kinda hitting the sharp-featured man as he talks to you about why he was really a virgin; you two talked for a while, about his brother, how gay sex actually works n shit, everything really. That's why, when you went to stand up, Natsumi grabbed your wrist - his sweaty palm nice and warm as his masculine, big, veiny hand wrapped around your wrist. "huh? you want more or something, handsome?" you tease, a quizzical look on your face as your eyes look into Natsumi's "Uhh.... I wanna make you feel good too" The sexy swimmer says, looking up at you with doe-eyes, innocent, attractive eyes. Fuck... how could you not fold?

And that's how you ended up in your next position, with your legs up on Natsumi's broad shoulders and your shorts slid off on one of your legs. The sun had began to set, the golden-hour lighting making you look fucking incredible below Natsumi as his long, masculine fingers made you moan his name like a chant. The inexperienced man couldn't take his eyes off of you, sure he'd seen some porn here and there, but holy shit you looked ethereal; with the sunset's gleam making your sweaty body shine, your eyes rolling back and your sexy panting, you just turned Natsumi on so much! Your praises of his fingers and skill egged the tanned male on, applying what he'd learned in a crash-course in fingering you'd given him. Natsumi instantly found your prostate from how long his fingers were, the man curling his two fingers into your pleasure spot and making you see stars; his eyes couldn't stop darting across your whole body, admiring your flushed face, your sweaty body, your twitching, precum leaking dick, your tight hole around his digits, and Natsumi didn't expect to enjoy the way that your sweaty feet curled in pleasure from his attacks on your prostate. The handsome man did his best to pleasure your whole body, not just your tight walls, kissing your nipples and chest in doing so, marking and biting your thighs and legs and kissing your feet - because, yes, the man is so tall that by the time your legs reach his shoulders, only your feet make it onto them. Natsumi was practically worshiping your body as he made you feel so incredibly good, praising your body and your tightness and warmth as he kissed your hot skin, his dick fully hard again just from the way your hips twitched and buckled, lifted off of the bed towards him with every rub of his fingertips against your p-spot.

Finally, after more kisses with a lot of tongue from Natsumi and more magic work from the man's incredible fingers, you were pushed way past the edge. You moaned Natsumi's name as you gripped at the sheet below you and at whatever skin of his you could reach, your legs twitching in rhythm with your cock as you covered your stomach with your cum; the sight made Natsumi blush, so erotic yet so adorable to him - the man was falling in love. Your panting and soft moans filled the room and the navy-haired man's ears, the air was still as hot as ever and your bodies were sweatier than before, but you both could give less of a shit; the two of you stuck looking into each other's eyes as you panted and smiled, fuck you were both falling head over heels! But after Natsumi breaks a very sloppy and passionate kiss with you to fumble iwth his belt in order to pull out his now re-hardened 8-incher, the attention of the two of you was redirected to the slam of the cabin door; behind which was a very happy looking Hiro, whose face dropped when he saw what filthy activites were occuring in the shared cabin. For God's sake! Now the whole cabin knows you and Natsumi fucked!

Oh well~

You could deal with an angry Hiro and Yoichi for an hour or two if it meant you and Natsumi were now basically seen as a couple by your cabin-mates - and you're sure Natsumi didn't mind either from the way he chuckled as he looked at you with a hand scratching his head.

[mysteryshoptls]

NRC Masterchef ーCream of the Cropー Event Lines

These are the lines spoken by Leona and Epel on the Event Homescreen, Ingredients Procurement and Cooking screen. (Thank you @/twstgameplay for letting me snag the banner)

Leona

Epel just keeps on workin' away, huh.

This recipe's a snap. No way anyone'd screw this up.

Usually, I just eat the stuff. Cookin's someone else's job.

When sending out to a location: Tch, what a pain.

When returning from location: Finished gatherin' the stuff.

When starting a dish: Ugh, let's get this over with.

When completing a dish: Here ya go, this order's yours.

Epel

L-Leona-san! Your pot is burning!

When a skewer can easily slip in and out of somethin', that usually means it's cooked well enough.

Leave the peeling and chopping to me!

When sending out to a location: Got it! Just wait for me to get back, okay?

When returning from location: This'll be enough, I hope.

When starting a dish: Totally gonna make a tasty, but healthy dish!

When completing a dish: I hope I made it just like the recipe said!

Requested by Anonymous.

[ayeforscotland]

Trying to limit and monitor kids’ social media usage would make so many problems so much worse and I need people to think about it objectively and not take it into consideration just because the concept is a knee-jerk reaction from a grieving mother being exploited by everyone around her.

— Kids already lie about their age, so an age limit is already unenforceable unless you literally require legal ID, which is an incredible breach of privacy with even further safety risks.

— Vulnerable children including LGBTQ kids living with bigoted families would be put in real-life danger of abuse or homelessness if their families had a way of knowing when they’re seeking support.

— The internet and technology is a requirement to navigate the world around you at the most basic level. That is a fact and schools know it too. Limiting access to that in this day and age would be massively limiting one’s knowledge, safety and basic life skills, especially if their family is neglectful or abusive.

— What constitutes as social media cannot necessarily strictly be defined. Some people consider WhatsApp to be social media despite the fact it’s a texting app, and the people you communicate with there are presumably people you’ve spoken to before if you know their numbers. Kids need a way of communicating with people for both practical and safety reasons, and blanketing almost everything as ‘social media’ and limiting access to it inhibits that.

— If you put a ban on all ‘social media’ until the age of 16 and then suddenly allow access, what you end up with is a child who has zero knowledge or experience of something suddenly being thrown into a world where anything is possible. It’s like when teens are forbidden alcohol their whole lives and the day they turn 18 they go on a massive binge not knowing their limits and end up either sick or in the hospital. It’s a recipe for disaster. They NEED exposure so they can learn.

— Let’s be real, kids would find a way around a ban through VPNs or other means anyway. We all figured out how to dodge the website blockers at school when we were 12. I doubt this would be any different.

While the fact that one of the killers watched gore on the dark web is indeed concerning, I really feel the spotlight is being shone on entirely the wrong issue here. Their conversations about the murder were all on social media and provided significant proof for the case. What kids need isn’t for adults to try to control them and read everything into their lives, it’s for adults to communicate with them and make them feel comfortable enough to talk to them when they have a problem. And that’s ignoring the, you know, whole transphobia thing.

(Sorry to write a dissertation in your inbox but despite my deepest sympathies and compassion for Esther seeing people put any stock into her awful, awful idea when that’s so clearly not the problem does quite frustrate me and I need everyone to know just how illogical it is)

I don’t need to add anything to that besides saying this line of argument is very similar to the people who campaign for an internet where no one can be anonymous, it puts so many additional people at risk.

Thanks for taking the time to share!

[grimm-the-tiger]

Misadventures with Google Translate

I put Life Series quotes through Google Translate too many times. Please help me, I can't stop.

The Names

Bdubs -> Bduby

BigB -> Capital B

Cleo -> Language

Etho -> line

Gem -> Decoration

Grian -> Shooter

Impulse -> Road

Jimmy -> Jimmy

Joel -> Hurrah

Lizzie -> Lizzie

Martyn -> Martyne

Mumbo -> Explosives

Pearl -> Beer

Ren -> Ren

Scar -> Right

Scott -> Scott

Skizz -> Writing

Tango -> Background

The Watcher -> Inspector

Some highlights

Scott: this house Jimmy: And street. [Original line: "It's home?" "Home."]

Language: Be good to me: die for me. [Original line: "Do me a favor: Die for me."]

Lizzie: And I left this world the same way I entered it: troubled. [Original line: "And so I left this world just as I had entered it: confused."]

Shooter: Scar, I think we are spirit descendants and you are too busy catching fairies!! [Original line: "Scar, I think we're soulmates and you're too busy chasing fairies!"]

Scott: They tear up carpets and kill farm animals. It immediately burst into lava. [Original line: "They break carpet and kill cows. And they mine straight down into lava."]

Language: Look, if you have a lost father, you might lose it? [Original line: "Look, if you're gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?"]

Scott: Our theme is ABBA's summer house, is it there now? Dead metal?! [Original line: "Our theming was once Cottagecore ABBA, now it's what? Death metal?!"]

Martyne : Tell me something before you go. Why are you attached to the sun? Inspector: Hmmm... HE. It was never meant to be. He just wanted to look. [Original line: "Just... tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?" "Hmph... HIM. He was never meant to be there. He was only ever meant to watch."]

line: I'm a good person to have someone light my tree. [Original line: "I was a good person till somebody burned down my tree."]

Decoration: God, that seems like a recipe for anxiety. Yes I am. [Original line: "God, that sounds like a recipe for angst. Yeah, I'm in."]

Lizzie: Follow it! No friends! [Original line: "Ha! You've got no friends!"]

Beer: Something bad is happening here. [Original line: "Something wicked this way comes."]

Shooter: Here we show our true truth? For yourself or for someone else? Are we all excited? [Original line: "Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"]

Background: It's not fair, it's not fair, I'll come back to it. [Original line: "This is unjust, it's excessive, and I will return."]

Capital B: No holes! [Original line: "There is no hole!"]

Some notes

I thought it'd be funny if the translations I used were all into languages I either knew off the top of my head that the creators speak or are official languages where they live. This got really convoluted really fast, because Ren was the only person I could think of who speaks a language other than English and I completely ran out after French and Scottish Gaelic, so I added languages spoken by Hermitcraft members instead, then threw Maori on for good measure because New Zealand's close enough to Australia (sorry, New Zealand) and I couldn't find any aboriginal Australian languages on Google Translate. So the translation order roughly went Afrikaans -> French -> Scottish Gaelic -> German -> Swedish -> Polish -> Maori -> English.

Ren's line "Red Winter is coming, me laddie" line got translated as "The red winter is coming, my lady." Honestly, it still kind of works?

"Watcher" got translated as "Inspector", which gives me the mental image of Inspector Gadget in a Watcher costume.

I don't know where the extra e at the end of Martyn's name came from.

I don't know why Etho's name is the only name that got translated into lowercase.

The fact that Mumbo's name somehow got translated as "Explosives" made me start cackling as soon as I saw it.

There were several points where Grian's name got translated as "The Sun" instead, probably because "Grian" is the word for "Sun" in Irish and Scottish Gaelic is from the same language family, so they probably share the same or a similar word.

"Soulmate" somehow got translated as "Spirit descendants". I'm pretty sure it's because it got split up into its component words; "Soul" corrupted into "Spirit", and "Mate"...I honestly don't know.

I translated a grand total of one line from Bdubs, and for some reason when I translated the document back to English, that one line stayed stuck on what I'm pretty sure is Maori except the word "Boogey", which stayed exactly the same.

I'm genuinely surprised by how many lines stuck remarkably close to the originals. Aside from his name, one of Joel's lines ("Where's the fun in that?") somehow survived perfectly intact, and one of BigB's lines ("There is no hole!") got pretty close ("No holes!").

I think the best part about this is that you can tell how and why Google translated some things the way it did, and then others you're just left completely stumped about how the hell it happened.

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 3}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Thoughts about Joel Miller have you desperate for something you hadn't sought out in quite a while: human touch. So when your friends suggest a girls' night out, you readily agree. It's just your luck that the very man plaguing your thoughts happens to be at the bar picked out for the night.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warning: alcohol consumption, drunken interactions, creepy flirthing, unwanted attention, fighting, bar fights, nonconsensual touching (not joel), protective joel, injuries, blood, degrading talk, power dynamics, abuse of power, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, cigarettes, joel miller is a conflicted man, kissing, drunk makeout session

A/N: this story is literally keeping me from climbing the walls in my apartment, i've applied to over 20 jobs the last few days and made even more calls to see if places were hiring. the issue isn't finding something, it's finding something willing to pay me for my experience and skill set. but i found out a local coffee shop is opening a new location and i should be getting a call back with interview times for that today, they need cooks and bakers and i can definitely do that

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was Wednesday, your normal day off for the week, but Joel had scheduled you two hours of prep, the shift reminder notification early that morning. It had woken you up, having allowed yourself to sleep in after the rather busy shift the night before. It had been a record-breaking sales day, the concert downtown only blocks away bringing increased foot traffic. It had been a week and a half since that terrible Sunday shift where you had finally given into hunger and had ordered food only to be told you had messed up. You had gone hungry that night, nothing in your kitchen at home.

You hadn’t spoken to Joel beyond confirming that dishes were ready to go out and helping to take updated pars out to the servers’ board for them to be aware of throughout services. Lists were left atop the sandwich prep station, and you completed it every shift you had before making your way toward the bar. They were in his writing, some things new with recipe page numbers for the guidebook stored on the expo line.

You had completed a few things on your list and were moving onto the next thing when his booming voice sounded from the walk in.

“Where are the rest of the yellow onions?”

Everyone in the kitchen looked over their stations, including you. The yellow onions you had chopped up for the red lentil soup were sitting in the pot you had atop a portable burner on the left side of your station. Cutting board beside it as you chopped the carrots that were to be added next.

“Whose used yellow onions today?” His brow was furrowed, lips downturned as he gazed around the kitchen. The three confirmations of ‘here, chef’ had him moving intimidatingly through the space, the first two seemed to come out of their interaction unscathed. But you felt like you weren’t about to be so lucky.

“When did you start the prep for these? They look nearly caramelized already.” He stirred the wooden spoon resting in the deep pot, getting a feel on the state of the onions cooking inside. You had stepped aside, hands behind your back as you let him inspect your station. He turned to watch as you answered, professional air about you as you briefly met his eyes with your own. You spoke in an even tone, worried about how he was going to react. He had already proven himself comfortable with cutting you off and denying you food that you had paid with your own money. And that was when you hadn’t actually done anything to warrant that type of reaction.

“I started this half an hour ago, gathered them from the walk in as I gathered everything else, chef.”

“Did you happen to notice that you grabbed the last ones? There are none in the box, left empty on the shelf. That you too? Don’t understand the way things work here, do ya?” He turned with a sharpie held tight between his fingers and he jutted it at the dray erase board beside the walk-in door where things low in stock were to be written down. “In case anyone is unclear on how this kitchen operates: things low in stock are to be written on that board there BEFORE we run out. Boxes or containers that are emptied while grabbing items are to be discarded or put into dish, not left on the shelf for the next person to find.”

“Yes, chef!” The chorus rang out evenly throughout the room.

He turned back to the portable burner and clicked it off, turning the nob off and the whoosh of gas going out was loud in the slight hum of busy work that the kitchen returned to once he had finished speaking.

“Why don’t you go clock yourself out.”

“Chef, there-“ You tried to talk to him, let him know that you had left nearly three pounds of onions left in the box. It wasn’t empty when you left the walk-in. You had been too wrapped up in your work to notice who else had gone in afterwards, though you wouldn’t have sold them out to begin with.

“Go. Clock out, now.”

“Yes, chef.” You wouldn’t raise your face to meet his look. Trying to keep your anger in check lest you give him a real reason to go off on you. Instead, you moved to grab your sharpie laid out over the recipe binder. The small field notes pad of paper beside it with the notations for a double batch written neatly on the page it was open to. Joel blocked your movement with a sidestep, his broad figure blocking your reaching hand.

“Now means now.”

“My-“

“Is now mine. Go.”

Your eyes flicked up and you tried your best not to pin him with the annoyance that was humming through your very blood. This man was nothing but a nuisance, you had only agreed to come into the kitchen because they were short staffed. But it was degrading work, to be around this man who deemed nearly everything below par and had extreme standards for the way things were to be done. The two instances of common decency he had offered you had to have been a fluke, maybe he had been extra tired and worn out those days, didn’t mean to let his guard down. Either way, you were quickly getting over the fluctuating temperatures of his attitude. At first it had been jarring, but you weren’t about to let it get to you any longer. You were determined to face it head on or dish it back out in what ways you could safely do so without risking your job.

You were lagging outside of the back door, standing with the bar back, whose name was Millie and a server who were both on break. You each had a cigarette in hand, swapping stories about the worst pick up lines that you had been approached with. You had removed your apron, it was folded carefully in your crossbody bag to be washed when you got home, simple black long sleeve Henley along with it. That left you in your black denim with that kitschy cute heart belt buckle and a dark green racerback. You had left your hair up in its normal fashion of low buns on either side of your head, short black beanie atop your head.

“You gotta admit,” Your laughter ringing through the air accompanied by the giggles of the two girls in front of you. “He was honest, what better way to start a conversation, though I could’ve done without the-“

All the laughter cut off as the backdoor opened and Joel appeared with a bag of trash. The two younger girls snubbed out their waning cigarettes and scurried inside, deeming breaktime over with his sudden arrival. You watched as Joel tossed the bag over the lip of the nearby dumpster before removing his gloves and tossed them in as well. He removed a pack of his own cigarettes from the breast pocket of his chef’s coat, and you could see the spiral wiring of your notebook peeking out over the top of it. His eyes took in the way your lips moved as you took a long drag from your own, bringing your phone out to ignore him.

The snick snick snick of his lighter resulted in a deep grunt, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. The cigarette he had pulled out was between his plush lips and his dead lighter was being pushed back into the pocket of his chef’s pants. When his eyes flicked to you, your attention snapped back to your phone. He cleared his throat, and you cocked an eyebrow up at the sound, turning to give him the barest hint of attention. He was leaning heavily against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he regarded you.

“Do you-

“Nope.” You took the last drag before snuffing out your own cigarette and tossed the butt into the pail beside the door. You started walking toward the parking lot, your truck beeping with a press of the control in your hand. The strap of your bag over your shoulder caught the man’s eye as you began to move away.

“You’re just gonna walk off from your shift?”

“Today’s my day off, chef.” You didn’t look back at him but could tell that your words had affected him.

“Shit, I-“ He straightened up and moved away from the wall, taking a step toward you, his hands coming out from his pockets to take the unlit cigarette from between his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Now you don’t have to worry me using up all your inventory, right?” You pulled another cigarette out from the pack still in your hand along with your phone and brought a lighter out from your own front pocket. You took a long drag and blew the smoke in his direction over your shoulder, aware of his gaze on your back and you hopped into the cab of the truck.

The next day, everything that was on your prep list had been completed and the one for today had instructions on where to find the mise for each recipe. Everything was already prepared for you and were just combining and finishing the last few steps of each one.

“Hi there, what can I get started for you?” You placed a coaster down on the bar top before a glass of water, eyes coming up as you smiled at the new guest. Your smile faltered a little when the face of your biological evolution professor beamed back at you, but you didn’t let your surprise show other than that.

“I heard a rumor that the bartender here made the best whisky drinks. Here to test out that theory.” His voice was smooth, something you had often spoken aloud to your friends that made the class lectures rather easy. His baritone deep and the ways in which he spoke with such passion and interest in his material was an added bonus to understanding the class subject matter than most.

“Let’s get to testin’, what your preferred whiskey?” You busied yourself making the drinks that had been rung up the last couple of minutes, the man having sat to the side of the well in the last seat along the right side of the bar.

“I’m a Bullet man, myself. But I’m up for whatever you think is best.”

“Oh, well, of course the one I think is best is our top shelf.” You tossed the man a playful smirk, aware that it was a possible line being crossed. But neither of you were on campus, you were at work, and he was one of your bar guests. His laugh was beautiful as he knocked his head back, the line of his throat catching shadows from the strong lights over the bar.

“I actually prefer Woodford, it’s not too expensive but its leagues above some of the stuff on the shelves like Evan Williams.”

He was funny, quick-witted. Matching your jokes as fast as he could. Bringing up documentaries he had recently seen.

“No, but like that’s the thing! There’s been no discovery of this caliber ever before, its unprecedented in nearly every aspect.” You were making a round of lemon drops for a group of girls on the other end of the bar, loading up the shaker and then securing the smaller component over it before lifting your hand and shaking it. As you did so, you reached over to grab the coup glasses you would need for the pour. A figure appeared at the well, taller than the servers and barback, who had gone on break a few minutes ago.

You glanced over at Joel, the man had his hands atop the plastic mats, eyes taking in the organized garnish container and the jars of small straws and picks for the servers to complete their drinks. You nodded at him to let him know you saw him and would be with him as soon as possible before you held the shaker tight in one hand and used the heel of your palm to knock the smaller part loose. Your hand was steady as you parted the two components enough to strain the bright pink liquid from the ice, not looking up from it.

“To actually have fossil evidence of not just any Hominid species, but of a newly discovered hominid species, with a crafted tool in their fuckin’ hand! Like, I got chills, and I was pretty sure my attention was plastered to the screen. Didn’t even touch the food I made that night. I immediately started just taking notes throughout the whole thing.”

“To be fair, it was just as intriguing to find out that the child’s body had been in the cavern wall, not even properly buried like the rest of the bodies in the Dinaledi chamber.”

“Oh my gosh, I know! That opens a whole plethora of questions about what that child was even doing, was he the one carving those symbols into the wall, was he alone- hold on one moment.” You moved over to the other side of the bar, two coup glasses cradled carefully in each hand, and you took the four of them over to the girls who had been watching you make them. They were all bright smiles and excited giggles as you told them you used Meyer lemons for a sweeter drink and added a bit of cherry juice for the color.

“She’s a busy one, guests seem to love her.” Your professor smiled over at Joel, who was watching you flit around behind the bar much like he had been admiring all night. Joel’s eyes snapped to the man beside him and he just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“Not much of a talker in class, but her papers are beyond wonders. The way her mind makes connections is amazing. And the way she uses her words so carefully, so eloquently.”

“You go to school with her?” Joel questioned, mind going over the small interactions he’s had with you recently. You tended to stutter over your words around him, as if you were hesitant to speak in the first place. He didn’t like the comparison, now, seeing you in your element and recalling the way you had always been professional around him. But this, you behind the bar and completely enthralling as you entertained so many people and mixed drinks like it was second nature. Firing back jokes and conversation as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Your laughter ringing through the space of the dining room. He felt the pull of a frown, not liking the shift he was causing in you lately.

“Oh no, school is way behind me. I’m her professor.” The grunt Joel made seemed to display his trepidation at the revelation and the man was quick to jump into defense mode. “It’s not what it looks like, she’s at work and I’m just here on a friend’s word that it’s a good place. Didn’t even know she was here until I sat down.”

“Sure.” Joel said in a tone that said he didn’t buy a word the man was saying.

You were back with them by the well, professional smile in place as you addressed Joel. You were busy tucking a receipt and some bills of money into your server’s book, secured underneath the counter and atop a cooler beside the drink station.

“Yes, chef?”

“Bourbon for the steak sauce. And whatever amber you have on tap.” He tried to muster up the courage to lighten up his face from a frown, but the way your eyes flashed away from him told him it didn’t work.

“Heard, chef.”

You busied yourself with retrieving the bottle of bourbon he had asked you to tack onto your order. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the liquor vendors himself and sure you would find a better deal than him anyway.

“It’s gonna be a 6.7 percent amber, it’s smooth and the notes of pecan to cut the malt. Only one I have on tap at the moment, that okay?” You talked over your shoulder, picking up on the waves and attention from the other patrons of the bar top, reaching to get more than the one glass needed for just Joel’s request. You poured two blondes, an IPA, and a stout and placing them in front of those who had been nursing them all night before going to pull the tap for the amber. It poured for maybe two seconds before it sputtered and compressed air forced itself out of the spicket.

“I told Millie to change out the keg last night, I’m sorry, chef. It’s gonna take me a minute before I can step away and replace it.” Your brows were furrowed in a worried expression, not wanting this to be something he used against you. You were really hoping to get something to go later, needing to finish a paper that was due tomorrow before class. He must’ve clocked the rising panic in your eyes because he squared his shoulders before shoving off the drink station.

“I gotcha, which label am I looking for?”

“Oh, um, Riverbank Red.”

“Heard.” He turned to move toward the small walk-in just behind the bar, the heavy door opening easily underneath his hands. You could hear him rustling around inside, the hiss of him removing the empty keg and then the clunk of him placing the new one in its place. The two knocks on the wall alerted you that it was all set and you pulled the tap, compressed air working its way through the hook up before foam began to stream. Letting it run for a few seconds, you turned around and grabbed a fresh pint glass for Joel’s drink. You used the previous one and filled it, cutting off the tap and took a long pull from it.

When you lowered the glass after your drink, you found two pairs of eyes on you. You looked between your professor and Joel, both on each side of the corner of the bar. Some of the foam from the outside of the glass when the tap died out had run down your chin and settled on your chest. The cut of your shirt was a little low, your simple, silver chain necklace catching the soft glow of the bar lights much like the foam.

You avoided meeting either of their gazes as you poured a second pint for Joel and walked it over. Before you could place it atop the drink station beside the bottle of bourbon already waiting, he reached out for it and his thick fingers brushed yours. His beautiful, brown eyes flashed down and caught yours, full of something you didn’t recognize, prompting you to pull your hand away as you struggled to catch your breath.

His teeth clicked with the clenching of his jaw, his hands tightening around items he came over for and he turned to make his way back to the kitchen.

“He’s not much of a charmer, is he?”

“He just has an asshole voice, don’t mind him.” With a somewhat fake smile plastered on your face, you turned back to your professor and started making him another drink as more rang through the printer. “Now, what were the most concrete dates we had archived for allusions to tool use?”

The alcohol in your system was washing your stress and anxieties away. Moving your body along to the song that was bumping from the speakers of the bar that held a small dance floor. Your friends’ bodies were moving alongside you, along with you, tangling with your own in a heady and exciting way. It was such a relief to not have any worries at the moment, only blipping thoughts of ‘oooh this is a good song’ and ‘another drink, yes please’.

You were taking a break, downing a glass of water and ordering a round of shots for everyone. There were five of you altogether and they huddled around you as you passed one to each of them, smiling widely at the bartender across from you. He just chuckled with a shake of his head and moved on down the bar to help out two waiting men. If you had been paying attention, you would’ve recognized one in a particular. But you were too preoccupied with the rather loud cheers the girls were trying to agree on before someone finally just shouted, ‘drink up, bitches!’ and you were downing the shot along with them.

The burn of it down your throat was anticipated and you gathered the empty glasses from them while they sputtered and coughed, not able to handle it as well as they normally could with already being more than tipsy. You were leaning over the bar a little, on your tip toes to place them atop the washer on the plastic pad you knew the bartender liked to gather used cups before loading them up.

A large hand found the exposed small of your back, your crop tank top allowing for the skin to be on display. It was dangerously close to the waist of your skirt, and you jerked back with a start, face contorting into one of anger.  

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” You settled back on your heels, the height of them making you a little taller than normal. Your eyes swept over the crowd around the bar and found that your friends had returned to the dance floor, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Not that you couldn’t, but it would’ve been nice to have a witness. The man in question was rather tall, blonde, nice suit, but his forwardness left little to be desired.

“Just helpin’ to hold ya steady, looked like you were about to flip over the bar, little lady.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Didn’t mean to offend-“

“Yeah, well, ya did. Don’t fuckin’ touch me, got it?”

“C’mon now. You were gettin’ all close and personal with your friends, maybe I wanted a feel for myself.”

The man stepped closer to you, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap and cloying as it wafter over into your personal space. His hands were coming up as if he were going to wrap them around your hips and pull you to him. His eyes were raking slowly up and down your body, taking in the short skirt and crop tank top you had deemed appropriate for the night. The cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt glistening with the glitter body spray you had used before leaving your apartment.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” You spat, stepping away from the man only to collide with another’s back who had been passing by.

“Watch where-“ Joel of all people turned around, a scowl on his face. You felt like a deer caught in headlights, totally caught off guard that your boss was here in the same bar. The beer in his grip had sloshed over his fingers when you slammed into him and it was dripping to the already sticky floor. There was another man beside him, similar height and build. He had the same brown eyes and you realized they must be related.

Joel’s eyes took in the slightly panicked air about you, gaze moving behind you to see the man you had been fleeing from in such a haste.

“He touch you?”

“Don’t know if that’s any of your business, old man.” The man stepped forward and hooked a finger on the strap of your crossbody, pulling you backwards and you stumbled at the bold move. “We’re just two friends having an intimate-“

You maneuvered your stumble into a pivot and raised your clenched fist to deck the guy across the face, cutting off his words. You felt the crack of his nose beneath your knuckles, the action splitting two of them open. There was a gasp and a bark of laughter from behind you.

“I said, don’t fuckin’ touch me.” You sneered, anger lighting you up from the inside out. You didn’t pay the dull ache of your new injury any mind as you brought your arm back closer to your body, but you did flinch when the man’s hands shot out and his nails scratched along your neck where he had tried to grab you.

Joel was moving with a grunt of effort before you could fully register that the man had lunged at you.

Body slamming into his and pinning him face down against the bar with a hand tight on the back of his neck. His forehead had cracked against it, and he had shouted out weakly at the pain the action must’ve caused. His arms were twisted behind up, Joel’s right one holding them tight by the wrists. As he did so, the man with Joel had pulled you away from the confrontation, hands far more gentle with you than the man now pinned to the bar.

“You okay?” Joel looked back at you, his eyes hard and his expression schooled into one of control despite the way he had just cracked that man’s head on the top of the bar. When you didn’t answer, he looked to the man who had pulled you further out of harms way. “Tommy, she okay?”

There was no time to answer him, the bartender was out from behind the bar in a second, security that checked identification alongside him and they were forcefully guiding the man toward the door. He was putting up a rather good effort, but the two men were stronger than him. He turned with one last look over his shoulder and spat at you. The spray of it startled you and the tears that formed were angry, wet, ugly things.

Suddenly, the girls were swarming you, all talking at the same time and guiding you toward the bathroom to help get you somewhere safe to gather yourself. You let them guide you away from Joel and what you assumed was his brother, not glancing over at them lest they see more of the tears than they already had.

The bathroom muffled the booming music enough to hear your own thoughts, the lights a little brighter to help you process what had just happened. The girls were dabbing wet paper towels underneath your eyes to wipe your smeared makeup, to sooth the scratch marks on your throat. They plopped you down on one of the chairs off in the corner, removing your bag from around your body and just allowed you to take however long a moment you needed. Someone fetched a bottle of water from somewhere and you gulped down half of it without taking a breath. Your hands were shaking and you lifted your hand up to inspect the damage on your knuckles.

Someone gasped and it startled you, making you jump in your seat and then the bartender was there with a first aid kit.

“Me’n my boyfriend kicked him out, some cops were walking down the way and he taken to the station.”

He said as he kneeled in front of you, tearing open a package of sterile gauze. He dabbed some disinfectant on it before gently taking your hand and patting it across the top of your hand.

You found yourself back up at the bar, seated in a stool with your bag laid over the back of it. Your friends had checked on you again and pouted at your insistence of not going to another place with them. They wished you a good rest of the night and told you to check in with them when you got home, you returned their kind words.

You downed the last dregs of your cocktail, a vodka something, and gathered your keys from your purse.

Heels heavy, you stumbled over your own feet as your head swam and the lights of the bar flared. You reached out for the back of the stool but ended up grabbing onto a man’s arm. It was warm and strong and white-hot desire raced down your spine at the contact. Bringing your face up to apologize, it was lost in your throat as you realized it was none other than Joel Miller you were holding onto. You stepped back, turning from him to properly retrieve your bag this time.

“You’re not the boss of me here, lemme go.” You struggled against the hold he had on your upper arm, where he had turned you to face him. He seemed to realize you were uncomfortable and he dropped his hand, allowing you to turn back to face the bar. Jerry looked from your annoyed expression to the man behind you, taking in the situation and trying to determine how best to deal with it.

“Hey, man, good on you and your brother for helping us get that guy earlier, but I don’t think she likes the attention.”

“She’s drunk, you really gonna let her leave alone?”

“She comes here a lot, knows her limits and she’s got me to look out after her.”

“She’s drunker ‘n you think.”

“I am not.”

“Darlin-“

“I am not your anything, Mr. Miller.” You turned back on him with such a glare he was surprised you could hold the look in your state. He could see the way your head was lolling with every turn, your movements loose and uncoordinated. “This is a public space, I am not your prep cook and you are not my boss. You can’t lord over me and refuse me food here like at work. And I want…I want French fries.”

You stumbled as you turned around to face him again with heat behind your words. Eyes flaring in anger as he tried to reach for you again. Your body sung where one of his arms wrapped around the small of your back, helping you to keep upright as your balance faltered. The heels weren’t helping. You wished you had just stayed home, the sting of being ditched by your friends, the sting of his treatment at work and the workload of your classes, all of it was a lot and tonight was supposed to help you get out of your head, not make things worse.

“You-“ You swayed on your feet, leaning back from him slightly. The length of his forearm supporting you as you did so and stabbed a finger into his chest to emphasize your next words. Ignoring the way that his chest was firm and hot through the fabric of his shirt, he would probably have chest hair and it would be as peppered as his scruff… “You’re mean.”

His brother was doing his best to smother his laughter behind a hand, but you could hear it and you pouted even more.

“Your little brother is laughing at me and you’re a meanie.” You shoved away from him again, the warmth of his arm gone from your back as you turned around to retrieve your bag from the back of your stool. “I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are, you can’t walk, let alone drive.”

“Don’t need help. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember.”

“Sweetheart, you-“ Tommy tried to step in, hoping that maybe he could help out the situation. It was clear they were both worried but you were just being so stubborn. Jerry was right, you didn’t like the attention, you didn’t like getting felt up and your boss had been there to witness the aftermath. That he was still there and seeing you in such a way.

“I’m not your sweetheart.” Your voice held more bite than you thought you were capable of in your current state. Tommy stepped back with his hands held up in surrender. His brows furrowed as he shared a look with his brother.

“Lemme call you a cab, please.”

“No, I don’t need anything from you. You made it clear how you feel about me, barking at me all day when I’m helping you with your kitchen because the staff don’t wanna show up and deal with you.”

“Oof, that’s a hard hit, brother.” Tommy reached over to help you drape your purse strap over your shoulder, the crossbody secure over your form and he stepped away as you pushed at his hands much like you had done with Joel. “You really did a number on her.”

“Lemme just, please, lemme take you home. Need to make sure you get home okay.” His voice was pitched quiet, leaning a little into your space with an open expression. His hands were at his sides, not reaching out to touch you again, his fists clenched at his sides. Your eyes lingered on the way his mouth formed around the words and you swallowed the harsh ones you were about to fire back at him. All you could manage was a small nod.

That’s how you found yourself in the passenger side of his own truck, waiting in a short line of a drive through.

Once your fries, and some for him too, had been passed through the window, he was following the spoken instructions to your house. Watching the way you watched things pass by the window as you munched on the salty treat in your lap out of the corner of his eye. The dried blood on your split knuckles making his stomach lurch as he thought of that man putting his hands on you and the look on your face when you tried to flee. The look on your face when you had run into him, eyes wide and panicked.

You had calmed down, now in a lazy mood after the adrenaline packed events of the night.

“You do know what you’re doin’, just don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud ‘fore now.”

“Hmm?” You rolled your head along the back of the seat to face him, bringing a fry up to the seal of your mouth as you did so. He had to look away from the sight, your entire body and demeanor relaxed. Your expression was so open and curious, eyes soft as you looked over at him. Containing none of the animosity and worry he seemed to pull from you at work as you looked him over. He was in a pair of dark wash jeans that his thighs looked good in as he drove, a simple white Henley for a shirt. It allowed for the tan of his skin to pop, the grays that speckled his hair looking good in the lights of passing cars and lamps.

“You-uh-you, nevermind.” Joel’s deep voice wavered before he cut off, not being able to handle the earnest gaze you had pinned him with, his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Mkay, whatever you say.” You turned back to look out with window, letting him know that your complex was around the corner.

He parked along the curb beside the gate that opened up into the parking lot. Watching him as he hopped out of the cab and toward your side of the vehicle, his expression hard to read. He was opening the door and leaning into the can to undo your seatbelt. Not wanting to risk you trying to do it and spill your fries, knowing you would probably tear up at the mishap should it occur. He said as much under his breath when you asked him what he was doing and you couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest as you agreed with him, it would be tragic.

Once unbuckled, he reached for the fries in your hand and put them back in the bag they came in, tucking it into your purse that was still across your body.

“Will you let me help you step down?”

At your nod, his hands came around your waist, the wideness of them allowing his fingers to span across your back in a tantalizing way. He lifted you a little, holding most of your weight as you hopped down from the cab. His arms tensed around you as you felt yourself wobble, forgetting you were in heels for the entirety of the drive. Another round of giggles bubbled up and you found yourself leaning more into Joel’s space. His body was warm where you were pressed up against his front, the scent of cedar stronger tonight than it had been all those nights ago when he insisted on making you food to take home.

“I wish you liked me.” You spoke quietly into his neck, lips brushing against the skin there as you did so.

You felt his fingers twitch where they held onto you before you were pulled back a little so he could look down at you.

“Darlin’, I do like you, that’s the problem.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“You’re not in the right state to be talkin’ about this right no-“

Surging up, you smothered the words from his lips with your own. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back. As if he was unable to stop himself despite the words he had just been ushering. It was all teeth and tongue, sparking heat that pooled low in your middle. A whimper sounded in the air, Joel swallowing it as he licked into your mouth. Your nails dug into the curls at the base of his neck and you pulled.

A deep groan rumbled through his chest and you pulled away to catch your breath, looking at the face of the man who had been consuming your thoughts for weeks now.

He looked back at you, took in the way your eyes were blown out and dilated, the puffiness of your swollen lips, the quick breaths you were taking to recover from his mouth on yours, the heat that he was causing was all consuming and you knew that he could feel through your skin underneath his hands. He was swooping back down to capture your lips, his hands moving up to cradle your face in his hands as he did so and you melted at the action.

Consciousness hit you like a jolt and you were shooting up from your bed. The covers fell from you to pool around your waist, and you looked around the room, nothing looked out of place but something felt off, so incredibly off. Your bag was on the bedside table, an empty greasy bag crumpled beside it and your lips were tingling with the memory of pressing them against someone else’s.

“Oh, fuck.”

You had drunkenly kissed your boss.

And he had kissed you back.

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[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you all for your generous work in the community! after s2 I need some really fluffy fanfic because I ache,

I need something very very fluffy, totally non-explicit, asexual, I love some fat aziraphale related fluff, maybe a length of 4k-50k? It can be more or less. I have read everything from ineffablefool. human au are preferable, but if it isn’t it’s also fine.

Anyway, thank you very much for your time, I appreciate all you do <3 :)

Hi! We have tags for all this: #fluff, #asexual, #chubby aziraphale, #human au. Here are some fics that may or may not have already been recommended...

with the help of a cat, or two by whicorzoo (G)

In which the cat in the window of the flat right across from Crowley's is unfairly perfect, so on a particularly whimsical night, he decides to put up a sign in his window to tell his neighbor as much. By morning, he's forgotten about it, until he sees it in his window and regrets the decision entirely. He expects to have his cool, intimidating facade never taken seriously again. He does not expect a response.

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T)

Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster.

Therein Lies The Beauty by BlackUnicorn (NR)

After receiving an unexpected invitation to his brother’s wedding, an unfortunate realisation about his old suit, and the inconvenient news that his trusted tailor had closed down, Azra Fell finds himself in Devil’s Wear and his world turned upside down. OR Two trans tragedies accidentally steal each other's hearts and then simply never give them back.

Around the World in 80 Cakes by cookie_full_of_arsenic (T)

This is a queerplatonic love story between Aziraphale and Crowley. Or possibly between Aziraphale and cake. There will be recipes because I'm extra.

Across the Line by hope_in_the_dark (T)

Ezra is a student in his final year at University College London, and he’s in love with a man he’s never spoken to. For months, Ezra has been tipping (and pining after) a musician named Crowley every time he sees him. He thinks that Crowley hasn’t noticed him, but Crowley has. A love story that begins with, of all things, the saving and handing over of a book.

Do I wanna know? by KissMyAsthma (M)

Aziraphale and Anathema are both closeted queer people, and they decide to do what any sensible closeted queer people do - they form a fake relationship, to shut the mouths of their families and shoo away unwanted suitors. Their comfortable arrangement is put into question when a school reunion makes Aziraphale reconnect - or connect, really - with his school crush, Anthony Crowley. But past is past, and now that they’re both adults, Aziraphale is just glad to make a friend. If the friend finds himself interested in Aziraphale… Well, there’s nothing for him to do since Aziraphale is taken, right?

- Mod D

[loosesodamarble]

for the ask game can you answer for Nacht

OoooohhH! I can without a doubt answer for Nacht~! Thank you, Anon~!

Favorite thing about Nacht: His complex character arc! His story makes me so emotional! Keeping himself down by calling himself evil and holding onto feelings of guilt over Morgen's death but finding the will to live even if he never fully forgives himself. I've talked about Nacht's whole deal a lot. Like a lot a lot.

Least favorite thing about them: As beautiful and sexy as his voice is, I did admittedly cringe a little when I learned he had the same seiyuu (Japanese VA) as Zenitsu from Demon Slayer. Zenitsu's a good character, but him and Nacht having the same seiyuu left me feeling weird at first. I've gotten over it at this point. Still...

Favorite line: From chapter 330 "Declaration to the Shadows."

I can't stand people like you. People who don't do things right. But I'm that way myself. So let me live with you guys... Properly, this time.

Nacht accepting that he has a place amongst the Black Bulls... And promising to changing the way he lives... I just... WAAAAAH!

brOTP: Nacht & Yami. They are such bros! They bring out the best and worst in each other, it's so funny!

OTP: Nacht x Josele (my oc). I'm biased and I will not be stopped. My own ship has brought me to tears because I just love them so much~!

nOTP: Nacht x Vanessa. It's not outright dislike but more an absence of any real feelings for this ship.

Random headcanon: Nacht can cook, under the very specific circumstances that he has a recipe on hand that he follows to the letter. No adjusting measurements or substituting ingredients. He has to follow recipes exactly otherwise it either blows up or turns into a burn mess! He doesn't know how he's cursed in this specific way.

Unpopular opinion: Nacht is not the "mom" of the Black Bulls. He's beleaguered and tired of their nonsense, yes. But in my eyes, he's more like the absentee father that only recently came back, annoyed by the state he finds the group in and somehow expecting some kind of respect or obedience from people he was never present for before.

Song I associate with them: Gomen ne by Kenshi Yonezu. The message of the song is an apology and a wish for a closeness with the person being spoken to, sentiments which Nacht has for Morgen.

Favorite picture of them: All of them??? No, that doesn't count? Well if I had to pick one in particular that makes me fangirl...

This image of Nacht from a color spread from a while back (released alongside 320-something? Some time during the end of the Spade arc...)

[yuckydraws]

A lil oneshot that I'm thinking might become the start of an ongoing fic? We'll see.

Pairing: (HT Sans/reader) with hints of (UT Papyrus/reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Build Up My Heart

It’s fucking hot.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and sigh, looking at all the work you and your team accomplished today. You’ve finally finished the framing for the guest house this family of… rather odd skeletons, have hired you to build. And you understand why.

This already large, cabin-like home is practically overflowing with them.

In your time here, you’ve counted at least twelve.

Twelve people. In one home that, yes, is large, but can’t hold more than maybe five or six bedrooms. 

It’s a wonder they haven’t ripped each other’s heads off - you’ve overheard a fight or two when you’ve taken your lunch on the lawn… and man do some of them argue.

When you first started working here, you swore you were going crazy. Almost every time you saw one of them it was one you’ve never seen/met before. Yet they all seem to look alike in some way, though you’ve kept that to yourself. Maybe that’s just how it is for skeleton monsters, who are you to say something ignorant like that?

Sans and Papyrus, the two skeletons you’ve spoken with the most, have been patient with every setback this project has had, though you can almost see the exhaustion in their sockets every time they pop over to talk progress. Makes you wonder if they’re the “peacekeepers” of the home.

But, then again, you suppose you shouldn’t be wondering too much. You’re just here to work, get the job done, and eventually move on to the next. Which will likely be another cookie cutter house in a subdivision.

… you’ll admit, though, that you’re going to miss seeing some of the wacky things they do.

And seeing that absolutely gorgeous garden of theirs.

It’s basically your dream. It packs an impressive variety of fruits and vegetables all neatly growing in raised garden beds. Marigolds are scattered about, likely to keep pests away, and there’s much more flowers where that came from - all of which look happy and content if their blooms are anything to go by. Whoever planned the garden, took convenience into account as well. An array of herbs grow right behind the decorative arch to the entrance of the garden. Just in case anyone just needs to grab a quick little something for a recipe.

Stars, you’d love to trade your apartment windowsill, grown out of an old milk jug, herbs for a lovely stroll to this garden. Who wouldn’t?

It also has a line of fruit trees lining the north side of the garden, likely so as not to block the sunshine. Whether those were here when they purchased the land and they planned the garden around it, or not, you wouldn’t doubt that whoever planned this garden would have the foresight for that. 

Currently, ripe peaches hang from one tree, and apple blossoms grow on another. Makes you wonder what the other two trees produce, but they must not be in season at the moment with their bareness. 

As if all that wasn’t enough, they also topped off this garden with strewn lights, stone pathways, and goofy gnomes.

A garden like this looks like a full time job, yet you’ve never seen who tends to it. You’ve seen some of the household members pick from it, but never who makes sure the weeds stay away, or who manages the more sensitive plants.

You wonder who it is.

“Hey, didn’t ya hear?” A voice calls you from your thoughts. You pry your gaze away from the garden and meet your coworker’s gaze. “It’s quittin’ time.”

“Yeah, I heard.” You confirm, slipping your gloves off. Not that those gloves protect your hands from the rough calluses littering your palms, but they do help them feel less sore at the end of the day. “The boss wants me to meet with those skeletons to go over the next step.” You thank whatever is up there that you actually have an excuse for your daydreaming this time.

“Right, I forgot that you’re a bigwig supervisor now.” He teases. You roll your eyes, that title hardly means anything yet. “Well, we’re all meetin’ at Al’s for drinks, if ya wanna join later.”

You would rather not.

“We’ll see, thanks Ron.” You neither accept nor decline. He gives somewhat of a salute before slipping away with the rest of the bunch.

Slipping your hardhat off, you await the arrival of your boss, scrolling on your phone in the meantime. It’s not long until you hear the rumble of his truck pulling up, and you quickly pocket the device in your hands. 

Out hops Ted, clipboard in hand and that aggravating smile on his face.

He’s nice enough, but something about him has always felt a little fake. However, playing nice with the boss was what got you this promotion, so you’re not about to jeopardize that now. Waving you over, he greets the skeleton brothers who approach him rather quickly. Must have been waiting just like you. Eager wouldn’t begin to explain how much they want this project to move along.

You catch the tail end of greetings, shaking both Sans and Papyrus’ hands as you’re formally introduced (though, you’ve already had multiple conversations with them while working). Your boss cracks some jokes that you half laugh along to, before he finally gets down to business. Listening intently, and chiming in when necessary, you learn what you already knew. Plumbing, HVAC, electrical, etc. needs to happen before you and your team can continue. It’ll be contracted out, yadda yadda yadda.

Just as you’re beginning to think you have no reason to be a part of this conversation, it’s… over. Yeah that was a waste of a half hour, though you suppose you may be giving clients this talk at some point so it’s likely important to hear.

Ted wraps things up, shakes their hands again, and takes his leave. Sans slips away after that, claiming that he has something that he needs to get back to. You almost follow and take your leave as well, but Papyrus, who’s always been more social, gets you pausing.

“WELL, HUMAN, I SUPPOSE WE WON’T BE SEEING YOU FOR A LITTLE BIT.” He says. You’ve long since gotten used to his loud voice. You smile.

“Gonna miss me that bad?” You tease. Oddly enough, a light flush of orange rises to his cheekbones. Interesting

“W-Well… I ALWAYS ENJOY OUR TALKS WHEN I BRING OUT WATER.” He blurts. Ah, yes, the water. Ultimately unneeded, but very much appreciated.

“It’ll be a few weeks, at most.” You remind him. He beams at that.

“YES, I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT.” He agrees. It warms your heart that he seems to care even that much. It’s not often homeowners even talk to you and your crew, let alone be as kind as Papyrus has been. “WELL, YOU’VE HAD A LONG DAY, I WON’T KEEP YOU.”

You check your watch and wince.

“Yeahhh… I still got to run to the store to get some tomatoes for this recipe I’m making, so I should-”

“WE HAVE TOMATOES!” Papyrus all but blurts. You blink up at him. That orange flush is back.

Huh.

“We U-Uh… WE HAVE THAT GARDEN, I’M SURE YOU’VE SEEN IT!” You tilt your head at his words, not wanting to assume where he’s going with this - he is a client after all. “WE HAVE PLENTY, YOU SHOULD PICK SOME AND SAVE YOURSELF A TRIP.”

At any other jobsite, you’d have quickly refused… but something about his hopeful smile and genuinity of the offer has you softening like butter. Plus… you’d get to see that beautiful garden up close.

“You sure? I don’t want to overstep…”

“POSITIVE! I THINK BEAR IS IN THE GARDEN RIGHT NOW, HE COULD SHOW YOU WHERE THEY’RE PLANTED!” 

“Bear?” You ask, wracking your brain for which skeleton he’s referring to. You haven’t been introduced to many of them.

“YOU HAVEN’T MET HIM.” Papyrus says with absolute certainty. “HE AVOIDS TENDING TO IT WHEN YOU GUYS ARE HERE WORKING.”

Oh.

“Well, are you sure he’ll want me wandering in there, then?”

“OH, I’M SURE HE’LL BE ALRIGHT WITH IT, HE JUST… HAS TROUBLE SOCIALLY. HE’S NICE, THOUGH.”

You hesitate. This Bear obviously enjoys gardening in the peace and quiet, who are you to interrupt that? However… it’s nearing 7pm and you’re ravenous. A trip to the store sounds like torture. 

As if sensing your dilemma, Papyrus pivots, placing a hand on your shoulder and urges you back around the house. “I’LL GO WITH YOU, TO ASSURE YOU ALL IS WELL.” You just nod and follow along, both because it feels like nothing you do will change his mind, and because of your selfish desire to just get done with this day sooner.

Your workboots sink into the plush clover lawn as you both make your way across the backyard to the garden. Your eyes are captured once again, by said garden, and you almost don’t notice the rather large skeleton tending to the flowerbeds in towards the front until Papyrus speaks from across the short fencing.

“BEAR, IS IT ALRIGHT IF MY FRIEND HERE PICKS SOME TOMATOES?”

You look to where Papyrus is speaking, and the first thing you see is the gaping hole in this skeleton’s head.

Holyfuckisheokay?? How-

You look to Papyrus in concern, but see him just… smiling down at you? Confused, you look back to this skeleton, crouched behind a garden bed and lock eyes (eye?) with the bloated, bright red eye-light filling the socket that isn’t scarred from his head wound. You… can’t tell what he’s thinking, with that blank expression of his.

But seeing as this is apparently normal for him, you’re now worried you’ve offended the guy.

Maybe magic helps monsters survive the seemingly unsurvivable? It’s not like he has any internal organs in his skull… maybe that’s why-

You’re pulled from your thoughts as this apparent behemoth stands up.

Oh.

Oh my.

You’re beginning to understand why he’s called ‘Bear’. He’s certainly a bear in every sense of the word. Large, imposing, intimidating… and did you mention huge?? Now, you aren’t small. You’ve kept up in construction for almost a decade now and it shows… but you still feel like a twig, craning your neck to look up at him.

However, the dirt covered overalls he’s wearing, definitely takes away from some of his initial intimidating demeanor.

“... sure.” He rumbles, blank expression still giving no clue to where his mind is.

Holy fucking baritone-

Papyrus pats you on the back and beams at Bear.

“THANK YOU! I’M GOING TO START ON DINNER, OKAY?” You numbly nod, trying to force your thoughts away from where they want to go. “SEE YOU IN A FEW WEEKS, HUMAN!” Tearing your eyes away from Bear, you wave back to Papyrus and watch him retreat into the home. You wait until he’s inside to take in what you hope is a subtle deep breath.

You about leap into the air, when you turn around and find Bear right behind you, at the entrance of the garden. Clutching your chest, you remind yourself to relax. How’d he get there? And so quietly, too…

And you swear you see this giant quirk the smallest of smiles at your jumpiness. 

He thinks he’s funny, huh? Asshole.

You stare up at him, flushing and definitely not pouting. “Ah, uh, thanks for letting me steal some tomatoes, you’re saving me a trip to the store.” You decide to be polite. After all, you were the one to gawk first, perhaps you deserved a bit of payback.

He just grunts.

And you both just… stand there. After a few moments of silence, you speak up.

“So… where are they?” You inquire, glancing around at what you can see of the garden, but it’s hard when you have a seven foot wall of solid skele-man right in front of you. 

“where are… what?” He asks.

You tilt your head. He just said…

“The tomatoes?” You try, maybe he spaced out when Papyrus asked him if it was okay… and when you just mentioned them a second ago?

He seems to recall something, if the twitch of his bone brows are to say much. Nodding, he turns and lumbers through the rows of flowerbeds. Assuming that’s an invitation for you to follow, you rush to fall into step behind him and his large strides… but, you quickly fall behind as you start to admire the garden’s beauty up close. Your steps slow as you stroll past the growing cauliflower plants. These can be incredibly hard to grow… how did he…?

You gingerly touch one of the leaves, and look up to Bear, who’s stopped and turned to look at what’s keeping you.

“How do you get these to grow so well?” You ask, smiling excitedly at him. He blinks, large shoulders relaxing a bit, as if he was expecting you to ask something else.

He reaches into his overall pocket, and slips out what looks like a very well-loved notebook. You watch curiously, but patiently as he opens it and flips through it. You’re unsure what the notebook has to do with his answer but you’re willing to wait and find out.

He pauses on a page and looks back to you, seeming to ponder something before deciding ‘fuck it’, as he approaches you and hands the book to you. It’s got various dirt stains, and some pages have been taped back in where they’ve come loose, so you treat it with care as you take it from his grasp. And there, on the page you see notes in small, neat handwriting. Research notes, with drawings and everything. The topic being the little cauliflower plant you’re standing next to.

Some of it seems to just be information taken from the internet and put in short form, while others seems to be from actual trial and error. You skim his writing, noticing that he’s scratched some things out but towards the end, he seems to have figured out the perfect schedule for the plant to thrive.

You’re tempted to flip through the book and read more, but you refrain. That seems like an invasion of privacy.

“Wow, that’s really cool that you go as far to take all these notes. You must really enjoy this, huh?” You ask, handing it back to him. He stares at it in his hands for a moment, before putting it back in his pocket.

He just nods.

“Not much of a talker?” You tease lightheartedly, trying to see if you can get any sort of… anything out of this guy other than blank staring and slightly intimidating silence.

He shrugs, and turns back around, leading you again.

But you’re not done.

“You’ve really built something beautiful here, ya know?” You continue. He just keeps walking. “This is amazing! It could almost be considered a small farm! Though, I guess with all your housemates to feed, it’s just a garden, huh?”

Still no answer, but you swear he starts walking a little faster if the way you have to almost jog to keep up is anything to go by.

“The flowers too? Man, this must be a full time job that, I’ll be honest, I’m a little jealous of! I’d be in here all day if I was able to! This is absolutely gorgeous, Bear! Do you take care of this all by yourself? You really have a talent, I hope you know that.”

Suddenly Bear stops, leaving you to walk right into his back… which given his height means you faceplant right into his spine. He barely budges, yet the force of it knocks you on your butt. You grunt and rub at your smarting nose. Damn, this dude is solid.

His red light stares down at you, from the corner of his good socket. He doesn’t apologize, or offer you a hand, just simply points to the tomato plant in front of him.

“... tomato.” He mutters, then takes his leave, stepping over your sprawled legs and heading back to the flower bed he was working on.

… huh, you could’ve sworn, you saw the faintest hints of blue on his cheekbones.

Chuckling to yourself, and once again, thinking that these skeletons are silly, you pick yourself up and dust off your pants. Not that. You really need to dust off your already dirty work clothes, but it feels right.

You lean over the tomato plants in question, finding quite a little variety in the garden bed. Roma, cherry, black krim, campari - and those are just the ones you can name. Dinner in this house must be full of all the most delicious, fresh produce.

Once again, you’re a little jealous.

You pick a few ripe and tasty looking romas, and call it good. While you’d love to experiment with some of the others, this was a kind offer from a friend and given to you by an acquaintance, you’re not about to take advantage of either of them. Holding your goods protectively to you, you wander back to the entrance of the garden, where Bear is once again knelt in front of one of the flowerbeds, tugging at some stubborn looking weeds.

He glances at you as you approach him. You hold up your three tomatoes and grin at him. “Thank you for these, you saved me a trip to the store!” A nod is all you get. “And… speaking of the store, I feel bad just taking these, I have cash?”

That gets him to fully turn his skull to look at you, and you take that as a yes.

“This is about a pound, I’d say, so how about I just give you an even $5?” You offer. Yet again, he just stares. 

“... I mean I can look up how much it is at the store or you can give me a price too, if you’d rather…” You ramble, feeling a little awkward under that stare of his. You just met the guy today, and he’s proving to be extremely hard to read.

You’re about to just reach into your pocket and pull out a $10 (way too much, but you’d pay anything to get out of this awkward silence), when your stomach growls rather loudly. His stare moves to your belly.

“Ah, uh, yeah it’s dinner time, huh?” You try to joke it off. His light flits back to your face, and finally, he just waves you off.

“... You don’t want money?” You ask tentatively. He shakes his head.

“... go home.” He rumbles, yet his tone isn’t rude, “go eat.” He adds. Your shoulders release tension you didn’t even quite realize was there and the awkwardness finally fading, and you offer him a grateful smile.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day. I really appreciate it.”

He hums.

“... and I hope you know you don’t have to wait until our team leaves to tend to your garden. This is your home, we’re just working here.”

He raises a skele-brow at your words, looking unimpressed as he gestures to the sizable hole in his skull. You hold back a wince as you remember your reaction. You know the guys you work with, and you also know that your reaction is probably going to be the most tame one he gets.

“Right… I uh, I’m really sorry for how I reacted, I thought it was a recent injury and I was worried you needed an ambulance or something cause humans can’t survive something like that, but that was really insensitive.” You murmur. His stare seems to slightly soften at that, but you barely notice that as an idea pops in your brain. Instantly, you brighten. “Wait here! I’ve got an idea, I will be right back!”

And with that, you start a careful jog to your old, beat up truck - not wanting to drop your precious produce. Once there, you deposit your small bounty into your upside down hardhat to keep them from rolling around, and then pop open your rather dirt-covered glove department. You’ve never really found the point in cleaning your truck that often when you just dirty it everyday after work. Digging through the mess of papers there, your hands find that knit fabric they were looking for.

“Ah hah!” You exclaim excitedly, closing your vehicle’s door and rushing back around the house to the garden that you left Bear at. He’s since moved on to a different flowerbed, but no amount of kneeling would hide that big frame of his and he’s rather easy to spot because of it.

Hearing the crunches on your loud footsteps in the gravel, he turns, seeming a little surprised that you actually came back.

You hold up the beanie in your hand, grinning at him as you let him connect the dots, it was one of your first crochet projects… and you misread the amount of links you’d need for it, resulting in a beanie that was ridiculously large for your head. You had meant to toss it or take it apart for the yarn, but it found its way into your glove department, and that’s where it’s stayed for almost a year. 

However, it seems to be the perfect size for this skeleton giant in front of you.

“Wanna see if it fits?” You ask, stepping closer. In your excitement, you don’t connect the dots that his skull might be a no-touching zone, and reach to slip it on. He quickly leans away from you, eyeing the beanie warily.

“Oh, right. Sorry, here.” You hold it out in an offer. He hesitantly takes it, staring at it for a long moment before glancing up to you. “It’ll stretch, if you’re worried about it catching those edges.” You assure him, not sure how sensitive the area around his injury is, but figuring it’s better safe than sorry.

After a few more moments of silence (that are beginning to feel a little less awkward), he slowly and carefully slips the beanie on his skull. He makes sure to stretch it and hold it a little ways away on his injured side of his skull, and soon it’s sitting nicely on his head.

A perfect fit.

“There! Now it’s hidden!” You say. He tilts his head. “I know it’s not fair that you can’t just waltz out here in broad daylight while we’re here without worrying about feeling judged, but it’s also not fair to have to hole yourself inside and wait until we leave to do your thing. I mean, it’s almost dark and you’ve got a lot more to do, and these string lights only illuminate so much.” You explain.

He nods, slipping it off and moving to hand it back to you, as if he’s not aware it’s a gift.

“Keep it, think of this as a trade for the yummy tomatoes! Plus, I think you look cute in it.” You say, smiling again as you see the slight blue return to his face. “If you decide you don’t like it, feel free to do whatever you’d like with it, it’s not like it’ll fit my head anyways.” You say with a little laugh.

A low rumbling noise escapes Bear. You tilt your head, and it doesn’t click until you see the smile on his face and his shoulders bouncing slightly. He’s chuckling at you.

You ignore the growing warmth on your face at hearing more of that very attractive voice of his, and let out a few little giggles of your own, closing your eyes as you do.

So, you’re none the wiser when Bear slips the beanie off of his head and moves closer to you in that silent way he does. It’s not until he plops the article onto you that you sputter and open your eyes, only to be met with your lashes brushing against the yarn and your vision being hindered by the way the beanie practically reaches the bottom of your nose. Reaching up, you lift it up and find Bear grinning at you.

“... no, it doesn’t… does it?”

He’s making fun of you. Again.

Jokingly pouting, you slip it off and toss it back at him, where it bounces off his chest harmlessly and falls into his lap. He guffaws at that, his little chuckles turning into a deep belly laughter. 

It’s infectious, and soon, you’re joining in again.

It’s not until your stomach makes your hunger loudly well known again, that he sobers, looking serious once again.

“... you need… to eat.” He reminds you.

You smile sheepishly, and try not to be too disappointed at having to leave. You were just getting him outta his shell a bit!

“Yeah, I do. Your dinner will be ready soon, too, I bet.” You say, shifting your weight on your feet as you stall just a moment longer. “I uh, hope to see more of you.”

He just stares again, but there’s a sharpness missing in his light.

“Goodnight, Bear.” You say, pivoting to take your leave. He doesn’t say anything right away, and you just assume he won’t, given what you’ve learned about him today.

But as you start to walk back to your truck, you hear a quiet, “goodnight.” from Bear. You smile again, turning to give him a little wave that you don’t see if he returns as you round the corner of the house.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Capernaum's Sweetest | Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Rising together

Chapter list

In spite of your mourning, there is a sense of calm that settles over you in the weeks that follow. Although the sales are not as high as they used to be, with the help of the two brothers you manage to make things work. 

For a while, most regulars keep showing up just as often as they did, which brings in the largest amount of turnover, although a few end up complaining that things weren’t as they once were. You reckon it is just because they miss the person of Hosea, who was part of their bread-experience as much as the loaves themselves, especially when it comes to the older and less sociable people. 

“You know,” an elderly woman named Orpah says one morning whilst you’re packing her usual order, a flatbread and two date cakes, “Things don’t taste the same as they used to nowadays. Have you youths changed the recipe?” 

You smile and give a small shake of your head. “We do things just as they used to be.” 

Orpah pulls a face, her wrinkles somehow becoming even more defined in the process, as if she isn’t fully convinced of the truth behind your words.

“Perhaps I should compare your bread to the concurring party on the other side of the village.” 

The rustle of paper stops as you halt in your packing. “Concurring party?” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Orpah asks with a pitch as if you’ve been living under a rock for the past weeks. “There is another bakery opening in a few days from now. I can’t recall the name of the owner, but apparently they bring in recipes and ingredients from Jerusalem.” 

You swallow hard, forcing a reassuring smile on your features — this is completely new information to you, but you refuse to let it get under your skin right away. “That sounds a little redundant.”

“Sourcing locally may be cheaper, young lady, but you clearly haven’t ever had olive bread with olives from around there. They are simply delectable.” 

“Indeed I haven’t, ma’am. Here is your usual order. Same time next week?” 

She waves her hand dismissively. “Not this time.” 

You blink in slight puzzlement. “Of course.” Turning over your shoulder to call for either James or John so that they can scratch her order out of the ledger for next time, your words get stuck in your throat when the old woman gives a tutting of the tongue. 

“Don’t you think it is a little strange, young lady, that a bachelorette like yourself spends most of her time with two men around your own age, who are equally as unmarried?” 

Your brow furrows as you lean a little closer to her. “Beg your pardon?” 

“You know… It is a little inappropriate, no? That two men work under a woman, and that none of them are spoken for?” She reduces the volume of her voice to a whisper. “People on the streets may start thinking some things.” 

You grit your teeth and force back the immediate instinct to ask what kind of gossip has been going through the town, but you don’t even want to hear it out loud. You can fill in the blanks yourself and truthfully, the sheer idea makes you feel nauseous. “I can assure you, madame, nothing unseemly is going on underneath this roof.” 

She taps the side of her eye, as if she is aware of something you don’t know, and then points a finger at you. “You are more naive than you seem. You’re a pretty young lady, likely throwing men off guard whenever you pass them by.” 

You can’t fight the snort that leaves you at the notion. “If that had been the case,” you mutter, “I’d have been long married by now.” Before she can get in another word, you change the subject, “Can I get you anything else?” 

She hums and shakes her head. “No, dearie, that will be all.” 

Orpah pays what she is owed and leaves the bakery. With a line in your brow, you turn towards the baking area. “James?” 

“Yes?” the oldest of the brothers enters, wiping his hands on his apron. 

“Could you please write down for this day next week, that Orpah won’t be getting her order?” 

“Oh, really?” James asks with a small hint of disappointment, “I always like her so much.” 

You give an absentminded hum of acknowledgement when James notices the look on your face. “Are you okay?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just zoning out for a bit.” 

“Do you need a break? You’ve been on your feet for quite a few hours now.” 

“Oh, no, no I’m fine,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. Before James can inquire further, another customer walks in, drawing you back into work.

James watches you for a moment before heading back to his own chores, not thinking much of it.

On the other side of town, Salome is just fixing your mother another serving of stew after the sick woman has taken a warm bath. “Here you go,” the mother of Zebedee tells your eema as she places the bowl in front of her. “I prepared it yesterday, so the herbs have had time to settle into the meat.” 

Your mother gives her a kind and grateful smile. “You take such good care of me, Salome. Thank you.” 

“Of course, Judith,” Salome reassures her, “It is the least I can do for a fellow Jew, hm?” 

Taking a careful bite after blowing on the forkful of food, your mother gives the wife of Zebedee a thoughtful look. “You know, I’d never have met you if your sons hadn’t offered their help to my daughter. So I should express my gratitude to them as well.” 

Salome hums as she starts cleaning up the house a little, something you’ve hardly had time for lately. “(Y/n) is a hard worker and both my sons look up to her determination,” Salome admits, “Really, they rarely ever stop talking about her whenever they are at home…” 

As she says this out loud, both women seem to realise something, giving one another a knowing smile. “She isn’t betrothed yet, is she?” 

“No…” your eema replies with an almost girlish tone to her voice, starting to beam from ear to ear in the same way Salome does. “Your sons… They sound very Godly and hard-working. Empathetic, too… The kind of people you’d want as your son-in-law…” 

Salome proudly grins and plants her hand on her hip, holding a dusty rag in the other. “And (Y/n) is a woman we’d gladly see in our family… We could arrange something…” 

Your mother’s eyes sadden a bit. 

“What’s with that look, Judith?” Salome puts down the rag and sits down next to your sick mother. 

“Ah, we… I don’t have a dowry.” 

Salome smiles reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry, we will figure something out. Now I’m curious…” she grins, her eyes glittering, “Has (Y/n) shown any obvious interest in either of my boys?” 

Judith sighs and shakes her head, causing Salome to click her tongue. “Oh, that complicates things.” 

“It does… Why don’t I speak to her about it soon? That it might be time for her to find a husband, get settled… Perhaps she’ll display an interest in either of them…” 

“And if not…” Salome then suggests, “I could speak to them, urge them on to take her on a date. Perhaps that she will feel a spark for one or the other!” 

The two women can barely contain their excitement for a second before Salome claps her hands together. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You eat your stew whilst I think of a plan to work this out, alright?” 

Your mother nods in agreement and eats the rest of the food prepared for her. The seed of matching you with either brother has been planted. It is only a matter of time before you will likely fall for one of them.

At the moment, however, your mind is more occupied with the decreasing amount of customers. It is after the bakery has closed that you find yourself looking over the brothers’ shoulders as they count the money and figure out the ledger. 

“Five regulars gone,” you sigh, running a hand down your face. “Five! Next week, another ten will disappear!” 

“Are they suddenly starting to make their own bread?” James asks, a look of confusion on his face, “What suddenly causes them to say goodbye, other than Hosea’s death? They still need bread, no?” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “They do, but… I’ve heard another bakery is opening up in a few days from now. They are most likely going to try out all the new stuff that Jerusalem has to offer…” 

“They import from the Holy City?” John utters, “That will be some heavy competition…” 

You bite your lip and let your shoulders slump. “If we are to set ourselves apart, the current formula will not work anymore, I’m afraid. It’s not just Hosea’s death. It’s the fact that they now associate this place with something negative and depressing. It reminds them of the past, something that will not return to them… The owner they are familiar with has passed on, and so part of them has passed from this bakery as well…” 

Pinching your bottom lip between your fingers. “We need… We need to give this place a make-over. Out with the old, in with the new.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

You turn to the brothers, a determined look crossing your face. “I think it is what Hosea would have wanted. This bakery hasn’t had a proper paint job in a while, nor have we tried any new things.” 

James’ eyes widen as something dawns on him. “Why don’t you try and sell your pastries? You’re good at baking these, no? You have a passion for it, it is something fresh and new… Everyone is a winner.” 

Your expression flashes with sudden, unbridled excitement, until it shrinks just as fast. “Baking pastries and cakes has my heart, but… We can’t afford it. Especially under these financial circumstances… We can’t get ourselves milk, cream, eggs, butter… It’s way too expensive.” 

“Aren’t there any recipes without any of these ingredients?” 

You take a moment to go over the recipes inside your mind; you had them memorised from the top of your head. “There’s date cakes, honey rolls, but honey is expensive, I can’t make jam because that requires a lot of sugar, uh…” 

It seems as if the same thing hits the brothers at the exact same time — they gasp in unison and look at each other with widened eyes before exclaiming: “Eema’s cinnamon cakes!” 

Confused, you look at them for a second. “Excuse me, what?” 

John smiles. “Ah, our eema, she has a very special way of making her famous cinnamon cakes. Our guests often ask about them whenever they are over for a drink.” 

“I even dream about them,” James confesses, “They are the best thing you will ever taste.” 

“A bold claim,” you muse, causing the older brother to chuckle, “But what about them?” 

John leans a bit closer to you over the table. “What if she taught you her recipe?” 

You laugh softly. “Oh, John. That must be a family secret, I can’t ask that of her! It sounds like something that is very important to you and I don’t mean to impose.” 

“You are family,” James instantly counters, then clears his throat, “I-I mean, practically. Our parents know you and speak very highly of you. Right, John?” 

The younger son of Zebedee and Salome nods in agreement. “We will bring it up with her soon,” says John, “Maybe it will get the sales going… And as soon as it does, you can spend the profits on more expensive supplies so that you can do what you do best.” 

You hum, fondly smiling at the two men who started off as your customers but had grown into close friends, and you look from one to the other. “You are putting a lot of trust into me for people who have never even tasted any of my sweet creations before.” 

“We are putting complete confidence in you.” James hums, “No pressure.” 

You laugh and bite your lip to hide your sudden excitement. “Okay, let’s do that! Let us renovate the place a little, maybe place a table or two back in the shop so that people may eat their lunch in here again like they used to, and see if your eema would part with her sacred cinnamon cake recipe so easily.” 

And so it is concluded. The three of you continue to close the bakery as you always do, heading home in the early evening. 

Grateful for Salome’s good care for your mother, you sit down at the table with her to have dinner together. The two of you say a brief prayer before digging in, a hearty meal consisting of dried fish and lentils, with some pickled cucumbers on the side. “How was work today?” your eema asks as you swallow a bite of salted tilapia. 

“It was alright, but we realised that we need some change around the place.” 

“Change, huh?” says your mother, “What kind?” Judith gives you a look you cannot quite place, as if she is up to something.

“We are going to renovate a little bit. Redo the paint, maybe fix a few nice things onto the wall, get some cute curtains for the seating area so that people can eat their lunch in a cosy spot…” 

She hums and pops a slice of cucumber into her mouth. “Interesting.” 

“And as soon as the profits are great enough, I’m going to invest into some more expensive ingredients to bake pastries and cakes, just like I did back when I ran the bakery in Jotapata with abba.” 

A fond smile tugs at your mother’s lips as she reaches over to gently cup your face, looking you in the eye. “Your abba would have been so proud of you, you know? And I am proud of you as well. Oh, he would have loved to see you like this.” A watery look shimmers in her eyes and you put your hand over hers. For a moment, she looks older than she is. 

“Let me know how things go with the bakery, alright? Don’t you worry about me. Salome is a good woman and checks up on me twice a day.” Judith removes her hand and continues eating her lentils. “Speaking of whom… What do you think of her?” 

“Of Salome?” Your mother hums in agreement. “She is a very kind woman. Sometimes she comes across a little strongly, but that is always in good nature. Furthermore, she is God-fearing and selfless. The boys are going to ask her if I can learn her special cinnamon cake recipe so that I can sell them at the bakery in the hopes of increasing the turnover…” 

“The boys, huh?” 

You tilt your head a bit, smiling. “What?” 

Your mother laughs softly. “Don’t act oblivious, young lady. These two are head over heels for you.” 

Your smile falters instantly as you stare at your mother. “Eema, you can’t just say things like that! It’s inappropriate and not true at all!” A blush rises to your face.

“Oh, please, (Y/n). Do you really think that they’d spend all that time with you for the money they get from their arrangement with Hosea?”

“Well, I…” you search for an explanation, “They needed the money to support their parents, and…” 

“They could have gotten a job anywhere for at least twice the salary,” your mother mutters, “Salome told me that they barely talk about anything else but you—” 

“Eema!” your cheeks heat up even more at that. “Please, you are embarrassing me…!” 

You put a hand over your face as she laughs. “Come on, don’t be shy. Do you like either of them as more than a friend?” 

Scoffing, you smile at your food, prodding it around. “I must admit they are both pleasant on the eyes and each have their charms.” 

Judith grins. “Oh? What else?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Would you see either of them become your husband in the future?” 

You gasp and cover your mouth, face flaring up. “My— My husband?!” you squeak, not having considered the topic of marriage just yet, too busy focusing on other things these days. 

“Yes! You can’t possibly have two handsome bachelors working with you so closely and pass up on both of them, right? You have the luxury to choose.”

“Or neither,” you remind her, at which she nods, sighing. 

“Or neither, of course. But give them a chance if they ask for one.” 

You narrow your eyes a little suspiciously whilst you watch your mother cut another bite of fish. She looks at you from the corner of her eye before putting it up to her lips. “What?” 

“Have you been talking to Salome about this?” 

She shrugs and gives you an innocent smile. “Our conversations are private, my daughter. Now eat, your fish is growing cold.” 

The conversation offers you food for thought. You don’t mind finishing your dinner in silence.

At the household of Zebedee somewhere on the other side of Capernaum, the same meal stands on the table, albeit in larger quantities due to the sons being big eaters. Zebedee has just been explaining a bit about how the fishing industry has been developing lately — long story short, not a lot of change yet, and he blames it on that same pestilence — when Salome clears her throat to draw the attention of her daydreaming sons. 

“I’ve had an interesting talk with Judith.” 

“Judith?” James asks.

“(Y/n)’s eema. I am sure that the two of you are aware that her hand is still available in marriage.” 

Both of them nearly choke on their food. John puts down his spoon as James coughs inside his fist as the youngest swallows hard. “Why do you bring this up?” His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Why during dinner?” James wants to know.

Salome takes a sip of wine to wash down her lentils. “A woman like her is rare to find.” Zebedee nods in acknowledgement to his wife’s statement about you. “God-fearing, hard-working, sweet and pretty on the eyes. She’s emotionally intelligent and knows what is important in life.” 

“It’s not like you know her that well.” James mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Salome raises an eyebrow. “Do you contest my claims?” 

“That’s not what I meant, I—” James lets out a sigh. “I mean, how can you be so sure she is even looking for a husband in the first place?” 

Their mother smiles a bit, looking from one son to the other. “Do you think she’d keep you around otherwise?”

“We’re cheap labourers thanks to our arrangement with her late boss, may he rest in peace.” John reminds her.

“And with his passing that contract is forfeit—”

“—There wasn’t one to begin with—” John quips.

“—What I am trying to say is that she has no real reason for two employees whilst she could easily run the business herself.” 

The two brothers look at one another. “That’s not quite true. It’s quite a busy thing and Hosea hired her himself because he was in need of help.” 

“Because he was ill,” Salome says. “Don’t try to change the subject.” 

“That’s not what we’re trying to do. Saying that (Y/n) is looking for a husband is something that we cannot quite confirm.” 

Salome hums and smiles a bit. “The two of you have been open books about it.” Both open their mouths to protest it, but their eema puts up her hand, “No no, don’t try to deny it. You have a thing for her and there is nothing wrong with that. I am, however, going to tell both of you something very important and I need you to listen closely.” 

She points at one, then at the other. “You two… Both take her out on a one-on-one moment. Try to impress her to win her heart. Ask her for an outing.” 

“Are you—” 

“Eema, are you seriously ordering us to take a woman on a date?” James nearly spits out his lentils. 

“I am, because you wouldn’t even come up with the idea yourselves.” 

The two sons look at one another, contemplating their mother’s words. In silent deliberation, they come to the conclusion that she is right; they are both incredibly fond of you and it would be a shame to let you get away without getting a proper chance of trying to make things work.

“Alright,” James quips, “What do we have to lose?”

“Uh, a close friendship, possibly? What if she’s not into me?!” John says.

“Or worse, not into me?” James adds.

Salome clears her throat. “Boys, no bickering. I don’t want you to turn against one another because of a woman. You are brothers, no matter what happens with (Y/n). And we will support whatever comes out of it. Got it?” 

“Yes, eema,” they say obediently, continuing to eat their dinners, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

After the meal, they both retreat to their rooms, needing some time to themselves to contemplate a way to win your heart.

[xxsycamore]

moooo, first of all congrats on the milestone 💗 you deserve it and a lot more, your writing is amazing and i always love seeing you around!

since the limit is three requests per person, i’m compelled to ask one for each of my fav boys, i hope it’s alright hahahah

can i have yves (ikepri) + 🤭? thank you sm 💞

Ana!! Oh my god!! 🥺🥺 You're being too sweet, I swear!! The feeling is mutual, thank you for all the smiles!! 🥹 Hope you enjoy your boys!!

cw: food

[🤭] 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒����𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚈𝚟𝚎𝚜 ' 𝚎𝚊𝚛…

YVES:

"Okay! Since the bunch of you wanted to try my carrot delight recipe and I happened to have all the ingredients in stock today... Including the carrots we stumbled upon in the market which I simply couldn't hold back from purchasing and turning into a delectable dessert...! I said, in the end, why not? It was originally meant to be for two, but I ended up making enough for you to have a taste as well. Oh and, a few of those have different icing for the sake of distinction and are made without any carrots, but with peaches instead! You can rest assured, Licht, I made extra sure your most hated vegetable won't touch your palate at all! Eat them at your own pace, I'll be on the lookout for dessert thieves. Oh, and, half of those are with less amount of sugar because some of you really ought to cut on it!"

Yves is so bad at pretending he doesn't take all of them into consideration, catering to not only their individual preferences but also taking the health factor into account where it is needed... Just in this sentence, he made his excuses accidentally overlap. And that is without recalling his radiant smile at the market during your little date.

Reminiscent of lined-up puppies that know to wait for their command to start eating but visibly salivate despite that, the princes from Leon's faction (in)patiently wait for Yves to tell them all about the "lack" of effort he put into the making of these sweets, and one final word of permission is enough for them to dig in.

In the meantime you're not after the sweets but after the saccharine treat that is Yves Kloss, your darling Yves. Maybe your lack of urgency is due to having a certain feeling about a special portion of delights waiting all for you once this here is over. Either way, you gingerly stride to Yves' side and gesture for him to lend an ear.

They all can probably tell how much you love them, Yves.

Yves looks at you like you've spoken something amongst the most unheard-of things under the sun. But it's not offense that you read on features, it's embarrassment. While everyone's busy stuffing their cheeks full, you're busy enjoying the beautiful rosy color of those of Yves...

∎Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event| 💌 event masterlist

[here-for-the-chaos]

Very short and not beta'd fic!!! Before things get inevitably worse. Pls give me some constructive critique this is my first ever posted fic. This is dedicated to @qfliporiana cause they filled me with canon denying love of the two of them.

It wasn’t until around 9:30 that morning that Charlie had realized he was wearing Mariana’s glasses. He had been going about his tasks of the morning, making coffee, checking around the house for any traps that had been set (or mines he had misplaced), collecting all of Flippa’s toys that were strewn around the living room into the toybox along the wall, and beginning breakfast. He had to remind himself to triple the pancake recipe. His cooking had never been very… tasty, but he would try for them. When passing by the mirror near the door, only then did he notice the round edges of the frames, and how just a bit blurry everything was. He brought and hand up and slipped them off his face, unable to suppress something of a fond smile. Definitely Mariana’s. Maybe the reason he hadn’t noticed was that he never had to think of it before. A few nights ago, he and husband’s beds were separated. It was for the best, really, them not sleeping together. (Aside from the nights they did, but that wasn’t the point.) But now it was permanent. It was a hard night, one Charlie didn’t like to remember, but ever since then, the beds stayed pushed together. And the two pairs of glasses rested on the same nightstand. Despite him saying otherwise at every opportunity, Charlie didn’t hate it. Not one bit.

 He ran his fingers over the rims. They had cracks and ridges, but were still charming in a way. The brunet sighed to himself. God, all of this was so… Domestic. Was that the right word? Was that how you would describe raising a child with another man, being a husband? Was that how you describe fixing up an exploded house with said man? A comfortable living room. A small but well used kitchen. An indoor farm with all of Flippa’s favorite plants and food. A ladder and stairway lined with family photos, or anything they found amusing. A child’s room with drawings across the walls. A bedroom that once was cold as ice, now warmed by two people sharing a bed. Yes, that was what it was.

The sound of a door creaking open drew Charlie’s attention, a bed wrangled Mariana leaning on the doorway. He wore a loose gold sweatshirt, with boxy glasses slid all the way down his nose bridge. Short dark hair hung down in his face, making Charlie chuckle at the adorableness stupidity of it.

“Charlie, creo que tienes mi-” Mariana was cut off by a yawn, as he rubbed his eyes and fixed the glasses on his face. Charlie could guess enough of what he meant and held up the pair in his hands.

“We switched,” the American chuckled, leaning back on the kitchen counter top as they swapped the spectacles back to their proper owners, “I took yours.” Charlie slid the square glasses onto his face, and watched as the world came back into clear focus. Grabbing the translator he spotted on the counter, he changed the settings so that whatever was spoken would be read out in the other language. Sure, the both of them had picked up enough of the other language to get what they were saying, especially Mariana, but it was better safe than sorry. 

Mariana waltzed over to the other side of the countertop and leaned forward to face the slime, translator between them, and quickly took a hold of his hand. Charlie cocked an eyebrow, a green blush rising to his cheeks. He nervously laughed and averted his gaze, “Never knew you one for contact outside of shitty sex,” he quipped awkwardly. The Mexican scoffed and shook his head, sending a confusing pang of guilt through Charlie, as if disappointing Mariana hurt. Huh, weird.

Their eyes suddenly locked, intense, and firm. Mariana began to speak, “No sé muy bien cómo decir esto. Todo esto empezó porque nos dijeron que cuidáramos a un niño para el que no estábamos preparados. Y lamento lo que pasó, y lamento no haber estado ahí. Tengo mucho miedo de que algo así vuelva a pasar, pero lo intento. Intento ser un buen padre y un buen marido. Sé que tú también lo estás intentando. Y creo que está yendo a alguna parte. Espero que así sea. Así que, gracias por estar ahí. Y gracias por intentarlo de nuevo, aunque sólo sea por Flippa. Que sepas que no es mi única razón.”

Charlie blinked, the cogs turning in his brain halting. Similarly, the translator whirled uselessly, the speed of Mariana’s talking making it unable to translate. He dumbly tipped his head to the side, “What?”

Mariana shook his head, an annoyed yet warm spreading across his face. He paused for a moment, before seemingly shortening his thoughts into 3 words, “Te amo, perra.”

Charlie’s blush deepened as the translator read out “I love you, bitch.” He couldn’t help from smiling himself, and was about to explain how he was absolutely not a bitch-

“Uh, is something burning?” Mariana muttered, breaking eye contact. Charlie’s head shot up and he scrambled over to the stove, smoke beginning to bellow up from scorched pancakes. With his correct glasses on, it became clear to him that what looked like the 360° notch on the stove top was the 660° notch. He lowered his head in embarrassment as Mariana’s charming loud laugh filled the air, sticking the torched pan into the cold water filled sink. “Let’s just heat up some Eggo waffles…”

[blacklistedfun]

Grief

Moral Oral- Character: Reverend Putty

Tw: death, implied suicide

My interpretation on how he'd handle this situation, so forgive me for any or all oocness. I wanted to explore his empathy fatigue.

‐--------‐-----------------------------------

The service was to be hush-hush, discreet and private, reserved only for the parents. There wasn’t even a need to change the church’s sign for the occasion, which was a tell-tale sign in itself about the deceased.

Normally, Mrs. Tishan would call ahead to give him a heads-up whenever the coroner received a new body, but today was different. The Reverend was completely blindsided with this one.

Reverend Putty hadn’t even known they had a kid until they approached him about the funeral. Had they ever mentioned her? Or maybe he just hadn’t been listening. The mother was one of the nosy, gossiping biddies he often made a point to avoid in his congregation, and he’d only really spoken to the father when he brought his car to the man’s mechanic shop. Conversations limited to idle talk of pride and concern revolving around one of Rod's prized possessions.

Regardless, it all came to light on a sunny afternoon when the older couple sought his counsel. He was finishing up in his office, filing away his sermon for the upcoming Sunday when he heard a knock on the door.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs.."

Rod was ready to brush them off with some excuse from already having plans, but once they stepped inside, Rod realized how unusual they were acting. The mother's sunken eyes, drained from countless tears, narrated a tragedy even before she spoke. The father, trying to be a pillar of strength, held a tight arm wrapped around her as though anticipating a storm. They sat before his desk, their demeanor almost trance-like.

The Reverend assumed it was something mild and harmless, like infidelity, from the usually chipper couple. Maybe the woman's gossiping had finally caught up with them, or the husband had finally knocked up that young woman from the diner. The one everyone and their grandmother knew he was not-so-subtly sweet on.

Trying to lighten the mood for what scandal might come, Reverend Putty forced a chuckle and quipped, "Geez, you two, who died?"

“Our daughter.”

The cheerful chirping of birds from the summer day outside suddenly went mute in the Reverend’s ears. The office immediately felt like a stifling cage closing in on him.

“O-Oh…?”

A wave of embarrassment pummeled the Reverend as he swallowed air. He looked at the mother’s puffy, hollow eyes, no longer aflame with gossip and disgusting casserole recipes. The father, usually strong as a stone, was beginning to crumble, his shoulders slumped with a feint quiver, unable to meet his gaze.

Rod’s chest grew tight, his stomach sinking further as he struggled to find the right words. A death in the family explained their demeanor, how could he not have seen it before?

“I'm... I'm so sorry for your loss.”

The father simply nodded, unclenching his jaw, a low rumble emerging that had none of its usual strength when he began to speak.

"We'd like you to do the service here, just for us. Private, please. No pamphlets, no... no one else but the pallbearers and Mr. and Mrs. Tishan. Don't put her name on the sign."

"Of course, c-certainly," Reverend Putty stammered, fumbling with the forms he was hastily pulling from his desk, trying to move away from his social blunder. He quickly shifted into professional pastor mode, adopting an almost stoic and businesslike demeanor to navigate through this delicate matter.

"Here, if you could...fill these out, please?"

Trying to draw from years of experience with grieving families, Reverend Putty guided the husband through the questions on the forms, offering stiff but steady support. He resorted to a few well-rehearsed lines of sympathy he had used countless times, hoping to speed up the process and conclude the depressing task at hand without putting his foot in his mouth again.

"Times like these, we just have to hold onto faith and each other... it’s, well, it's never easy. These... these things."

A simple, Christian funeral service was all they wanted for their dearly departed. Though they were tight-lipped about the passing, any personal questions about the deceased felt like treading on eggshells, and Rod wasn’t about to prod and risk stepping on a landmine. When the forms asked for the birth and death dates, the father faltered, his hands trembling with the pen as he struggled to write, until Rod gently took over.

"Here, let me..."

As the consultation drew to a close and they prepared to leave, Reverend Putty thought he was in the clear. Thankfully, the parents hadn’t asked for grief counseling; Rod wasn’t keen on scheduling regular sessions of this kind of ordeal.

Unfortunately, it was just the calm before the storm.

Before Rod could even stand to get the door, the woman collapsed inward as she rose from her chair, overcome with sobs before her husband could guide her out. Horrible, guttural sounds wrenched from her, unlike anything Rod had ever heard, especially from someone usually so soft-spoken. His hands began to tremble as her cries filled the room, a small puddle forming on his office floor.

Oh, Lord..not this...

Rod was never good with criers, especially with crying women. But he couldn’t just tell her to hold it in. Couldn't just tell her to repress her pain like they were in the repressional.

He stood up slowly, stiff and uncertain, completely at a loss for what to say or do. Rod could have offered a handkerchief or a comforting hug, but the initiative and strength to do so was lost within him. Instead, he stood there awkwardly, hands tensely clasped in front of him, his familiar gesture of insecurity.

"Dear, dear, please get up, not here..." The husband tried to coax her up, but to no avail. She wouldn’t budge, simply sinking deeper into her grief within herself. He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her. "It wasn't your fault..."

This was going to be a rough one, he could already tell. One that would probably lead to him going straight to the repressional afterward. The Reverend couldn't even begin to imagine how rough the funeral would be.

How difficult, how uncomfortable...

"Lord... I-I'm sorry, I just... never imagined I'd be... p-p-planning my baby's funeral..." she stammered, unable to find more words, her heart-wrenching sobs filling his office as her husband wrapped an arm around her, barely keeping it together himself. Rod's anxious shakes matched nothing to his own.

"L-Listen, both of you..."

This could have been the perfect moment to deliver the “it’s all part of God’s plan” speech, the usual fix-all for unexpected tragedies. But with the woman sobbing a flood right in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He knew it would offer no comfort.

“I understand the pain you’re both going through, the loss of a loved one…”

But he didn’t, not truly.

Rod's mother had passed away when he was four, leaving him with only a few fading memories, none of which held any real sense of loss. Just a kind, blurry face that held him and lulled him to sleep, there one moment and gone the next. His father’s death, on the other hand, had felt like a blessing at first; Putty Senior had been gone in spirit long before God hit the brakes on his heart at 51. That blessing, however, quickly turned into a curse when Rod picked up the mantle his father left behind, driven by a sense of obligation that eventually left him more bitter towards the old curmudgeon.

The loss of a child, though, was beyond him.

The husband attempted to soothe her, drawing her into an embrace as he tried to raise her toward the door. Yet her cries only grew louder as she clung to him, now soaking his work shirt. Reverend Putty, feeling like an unwilling witness, out of place and useless in his own church, could only watch as the husband tried to help her stand.

On second thought, he’d probably skip the repressional and go straight to Forghetty’s.

Rod finally stepped out from behind the safety of his desk to walk closer, trying not to feel entirely inept in his role.

"Ma'am, please listen to me..."

He began to wax poetic. Reciting well-worn lines from memory as best as he could scramble, placing a cautious hand on the woman's shoulder. He spoke of their daughter now looking down on them from Heaven, offering phrases like, "Basking on a cloud, free from the woes of Earth, another angel gaining its wings."

That kind of rhetoric.

Rod vaguely recalled reading something similar on a cereal box once, but it seemed to have the desired effect. The woman's harrowing sobs and convulsions lessened just enough, allowing her to voice a tentative question, her bleary-eyed gaze focusing on him.

"I know...I know there's nothing I can say to ease your pain, but I promise you, she's in a better place now."

"P-promise? She's... she's in Heaven?"

Taken aback by her desperation, he hesitated. Rod’s clerical collar suddenly felt uncomfortably tight around his neck despite being a flimsy piece of cotton he slips on every day. Shifting a glance to the husband, the Reverend realized he, too, was waiting for an answer.

"Probably...?"

Subtle hints, like the woman’s age, the obvious trauma in the parents, and the request for a private service, suggested that her passing might not have been entirely by the book. Moreover, given that she had never attended his church, in Rod’s professional opinion, she was more likely screaming upwards than smiling down.

Rod felt a bead of sweat forming on his brow, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he spoke.

“W-Well, sure...”

Was she in Heaven? Probably not, but he couldn’t just say that to them. To be frank, he didn’t know what kind of life their daughter had led. He had no evidence to suggest she should be in Heaven. Or in Hell.

But looking at the broken woman with a husband bearing her grief and his own, both drowning in it, he just couldn't say no, or even offer a half-hearted "That's for God to decide." Besides, these were the parishioners whose generous donations had pretty much funded his car's down payment, not that it mattered in this moment. It was just a little fact that he couldn't help but put into consideration.

He drew in a deep breath and nodded with faux confidence.

"Yes... she is. I’m sure of it," he lied, forcing himself to hold her gaze. The words felt too heavy, not because they were untrue, but because he knew how much she needed to hear them. "I swear it."

The mother exhaled heavily at his promise, and Rod noticed the father's own sigh of relief, as if he had expected the Reverend might say otherwise. The grieving mother whispered her thanks, the small, wispy sound muffled by her hands as she turned away, trying to compose herself. She wiped away snot and tears with trembling fingers until she pulls her husband's grease-stained rag out from his front pocket.

"Thank you," the broken man whispered, his voice thick with gratitude and despair. Perhaps he knew better too.

The husband guided his wife up and out, nodding thanks to him for a parting goodbye. After they left the office, Rod sighed, feeling hollow while listening to their slow footsteps echo in the sanctuary.

He waited until they were fully gone, hearing the entry doors opening and shutting before sinking back into his chair with a sigh. For a moment, his shoulders sagged, and the facade of being a caring and understanding pastor faded. Rod felt like he had failed them, offering empty reassurances about a daughter he knew nothing about, just to get them out the door.

"Christ on the cross... that was the worst one yet..."

Rod generally had no qualms about lying, but offering comfort in times of grief, whether inspired by a cereal box or from his own heart, was not his forte.

This wasn’t a new experience for him. He was the town's pastor, after all, and handling hard truths was on par with the job. But when raw emotion and real pain were right in front of him, that's where he often struck out the hardest. His eyes flicked to the cross, a miffed expression crossing his face.

"What, no divine warning or anything for that?"

They were around his age too. Rod couldn’t imagine burying a child. He didn’t even have a partner, let alone a kid, there was no way he could empathize with the devastation they're feeling. Not that he wanted to.

For a moment, eyes flicking from the cross to the tears on the floor, his mind wandered. Rod imagined himself in the husband’s place, being a father and burying a child of his own. The harrowing thought of outliving your children was something he couldn’t bear to imagine.

He immediately shook his head to dispel the thought and grabbed fresh paper from his desk drawer. That wasn’t going to happen, not anytime soon. Or ever.

As much as he wanted to run for the bar after that disaster of a consultation, Rod prepared for the next grueling task: the eulogy.

Although he suspected that their daughter might not have been a devout Christian, having only learned of her existence in the worst possible way, he was determined to craft a tribute more heartfelt than his usual spiel. The parents were so devastated that their faith seemed to be the only thing they had left, and that was the only thing he could really use to help.

At least something more than just the first draft this time.

-------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Had notes for the end of this but Tumblr hiccuped on me so I'm leaving this alone for now.

[mysteryshoptls]

NRC Masterchef ーRice to Meet Youー Event Lines

These are the lines spoken by Azul and Ortho on the Event Homescreen, Ingredients Procurement and Cooking screen.

Azul

Amazing, Ortho-san, your measurements are extremely precise!

Cooked meals must also be palatable for the eyes. I must take care when shaping the food.

Please don't talk to me while I am handling a knife.

When sending out to a location: I have a good eye for determining ingredient quality.

When returning from location: Now then, I wonder how we could leverage these ingredients.

When starting a dish: I've received the order.

When completing a dish: Please enjoy.

Ortho

Azul-san, you're really trying to focus on using that knife, huh.

The vegetables, hamburger, and egg go on the rice in that order... Like this!

I'm pretty sure I'm more accurate than any other measuring tool.

When sending out to a location: Destination set! Time to go collect ingredients.

When returning from location: Mission complete! Here are all the ingredients gathered.

When starting a dish: I can definitely recreate the recipe!

When completing a dish: All done! I'd love it if you could tell me what you thought about the taste.

Requested by Anonymous.

[elf-osamu]

hi!!! i hope you’re doing ok! so uhm i hope nothings missing but can i have prompt 15 from fluff list 1 w/ oda? i’m non binary and i’m also saying the line <3 both platonic or romantic is ok! i don’t really mind. thank u so much for your time and have an amazing day 🌷

“ COME TASTE! TELL ME IF I NEED TO ADD ANYTHING ”

[ masterlist ] [ event ] [ reblogs are v v v appreciated ]

fluff, canon divergence, can be interpreted both as romantic and platonic, oda sakunosuke x non-binary!reader (no specific prns used)

warning(s) : food !

word count : 465 words

plot : “ you surprise oda with his favorite meal, cooked by you for the first time. what does he think? ”

a/n : hi vess !!! i've written this while listening to “eat your young” by hozier and, i must admit it, it has been an experience/pos. anyway, it's the first time i actually write about oda and i'm not really satisfied with it, but that's okay, i'm going to improve when i find time :].

prompt taken from here !!

[ ☆ ] oda would be delighted to discover you are trying to make him happy with curry rice, his favorite dish !

[ ☆ ] whether you're a good cook or not, he would appreciate the effort regardless.

[ ☆ ] however, if you ask for his opinion on your cooking skills, he'd be extremely blunt. oda is a honest man and says what it's strictly necessary - not in a harsh tone, but in a considerate way.

[ ☆ ] if you happen to make his favorite version of curry rice, that is quite spicy and served with a raw egg on top of it, he'll be positively surprised.

oda had always been a soft-spoken man in his life.

he was easily described as a generally calm, collected individual who did what he had to without many pretensions, rarely acting on a whim.

he wanted a simple, quiet life, filled with domestic moments and things which were very dear to him.

he was modest in his tastes and dreams... and he was content like this.

“okay, it's almost done”, you muttered to yourself as you watched over the pan where you were cooking the rice.

you had been invited by oda at his apartment to have lunch together and discuss the plans that he had in mind for his future books; he had recently published a short novel which was being sold everywhere in yokohama, much to your (and his) contentment.

you were proud of his accomplishment.

so, you had wanted to make something to congralute him; you had been rummaging through his kitchen and shelves to gather all the ingredients needed, then you started preparing the dish.

finding a recipe that was very similar to the original one hadn't been an easy task for you, but ultimately you had managed to discover it.

then there you were, sighing because of the high temperature of the room.

you were about to make the final touches when you heard the opening of the apartment's door.

oda sakunosuke just got home when the pungent aroma of his loved spice met his nostrils. he happily hummed as he changed his shoes and took off his light coat, going to the kitchen.

when you saw him entering the room, you looked at him and your face lit up.

“oda, come taste!” you exclaimed, gesturing him to go near the pan. you offered him a ladle to take a bit of curry rice. “tell me if i need to add anything”, you smiled.

he carefully tasted it, silently pondering if anything was missing.

as expected, he took his time to answer.

“i believe”, he thought out loud, a pensive expression adorned his face. “you should add more spice to it”.

you chuckled and did as he told you.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]